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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26549278">All I Need</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjbender/pseuds/hjbender'>hjbender</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars: Kanan (Comics), Star Wars: Rebels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Bonding, Aftercare, Alcoholic Kanan Jarrus, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Childhood Trauma, Confessions, Consensual Underage Sex, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Dark Past, Drugging, Edging, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Suppression (Star Wars), Hallucinogens, Heavy Petting, Hera Syndulla Is A Good Bro, Horny Teenagers, Humiliation, Illiterate Ezra Bridger, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Intercrural Sex, Jedi Lore (Star Wars), Jedi Training (Star Wars), Liberties Taken With Force Canon, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Making Out, Master &amp; Padawan Relationship(s), Masturbation, Mentor/Protégé, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Molestation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orphans, Outdoor Sex, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Sexual Abuse, Pedophilia, Protective Kanan Jarrus, Season/Series 01, Secret Relationship, Sex Education, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Humor, Sharing a Bed, Sleep Deprivation, Survival, Teen Crush, Teenagers, Temporary Abstinence, Torture, Truth Serum, Wet Dream, Willfully Ignores Canon Star Wars Terminology</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:02:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>51,060</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26549278</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjbender/pseuds/hjbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether by fate or Force or random circumstance, Kanan Jarrus and Ezra Bridger end up attaching to one another very quickly and forming a bond that goes far deeper than Master and Padawan.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ezra Bridger/Kanan Jarrus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>156</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>147</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The heart of me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ezra shares with Kanan a dark secret from his past.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Only when one becomes a teacher does one realize how much—or how little—they truly know.</p><p>It’s nerve-wracking at first, taking on Ezra as his Apprentice. Kanan has never taught anyone in his life. He was always the one being taught. </p><p>He spends several nights that first week lying awake in his bunk, thinking about lesson structures and in what order he ought to administer the exercises—every student is different, after all—and he is noticeably distracted during the day, making lists, meditating more than usual, lost in thought. Hera thinks it’s sweet how much he has taken this task to heart, and she tells him so.</p><p>“Relax, Dad,” she teases as she helpfully kneads the tension from Kanan’s shoulders. “You’ll do fine.”</p><p>But after the first few lessons—and several arguments, and at least one meltdown—Kanan feels more like an unlicensed therapist than a Jedi Master. So far he has spent more time lecturing than doing any actual training. But it’s to be expected; Ezra lacks rudimentary knowledge of the ways of the Force and has a lot of mental grooming to do before his mind is even ready to receive the lessons. Like a fallow field, the soil must be turned and aerated before the seeds can be successfully planted.</p><p>To make matters even more difficult, the boy is a free spirit, a true wild child, unaccustomed to obeying rules or respecting authority. He is easily frustrated by the abstract, gives up too soon when faced with single-solution problems, is impatient and sarcastic and cracks too many jokes at inappropriate times, and somehow manages to press every single one of Kanan’s buttons. </p><p>A typical teenager, basically.</p><p>Kanan hones his patience like a knife and instructs Ezra to do the same. It’s the only way either of them is going to get through this training without killing each other—accidentally or intentionally.</p><p>He never expected it to be easy, mentoring and teaching a kid, but neither did he expect it to be so hard. And he can’t blame it all on Ezra. All of Kanan’s deficiencies, his failures, his backslidden years in which he abandoned the Force, all the lessons his Master had not finished teaching him, are suddenly thrust into his face as evidence proving he is unsuitable to be Ezra’s instructor. </p><p>He doesn’t know what he’s doing. That’s the one underlying maxim that keeps resurfacing every time they end a day on a bad note. He’s way out of his depth, flying by the seat of his pants. They’re reduced to squeezing in training sessions between ops and supply runs and evading the Empire, with none of the texts or old Masters to guide them. No library, no collective centuries of wisdom to call upon for advice. Just a single lightsaber and the memories in Kanan’s head, and that’s all. It’s so much less than what Ezra deserves. Kanan wishes he could give him the best. It’s impossible, he knows that, but it doesn’t make him want it any less. Things were much different when he was a Padawan.</p><p>It keeps him up at night, thinking about the hows and whys. Mostly the hows. He wants to do this right, but he can only teach Ezra what he knows. And he knows so little. He shouldn’t be teaching anyone. He’s a half-finished project himself. He isn’t a Knight, isn’t a Master. He’s barely a mentor. </p><p><em>But you are the only one who can show him</em>, says a calm voice inside him. <em> You will find a way. He needs you now, whether you are ready or not. It is more important to be present than perfect. </em></p><p>Kanan tries to believe it. And that is his first mistake. Trying.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>It isn’t until after narrowly escaping the Inquisitor on their failed rescue mission to Stygeon Prime that Kanan finally stops trying to teach Ezra and <em> begins </em>to teach him. They accomplish more in one afternoon than in all their sessions of the past month. It’s a huge victory for them both.</p><p>It’s not all clear skies and smooth sailing, of course. Ezra still lacks discipline and concentration. He’s an unpolished gemstone, a newly-sparked flame burning in the night. Kanan wants to feed that flame and help it grow, but he’s very aware of how easy it is to snuff out the spark if a Master is too overbearing. Sometimes he feels like he’s too hard on the boy, but the boy is also willful and independent. Only the lightest, most expert touch will be able to shape him into a Jedi. Kanan doesn’t want Ezra to fail—not just because that would mean admitting that he too is a failure, but because he genuinely wants Ezra to surpass his own abilities someday. </p><p>The times when Ezra does well and looks up at him with a proud grin, Kanan thinks he would die for him. He ruffles the boy’s hair and compliments him—not too much, he doesn’t want it to go to his head—and savors these little victories. They’re happening more often now, but not without effort, discipline, and a lot of patience.</p><p>Kanan deals with his personal doubts on a daily basis, conquering them with as much fortitude and determination as he can summon. Slowly Ezra begins to trust him, to really form a bond with him, and Kanan finds himself drawing strength from the vulnerabilities that Ezra is now brave enough to share with him. </p><p>Like a flower, the boy is slowly opening up to him, revealing the tender heart his petals have been carefully guarding. Sometimes they’re good things. A favorite song, a happy memory of his parents, the funniest thing that ever happened to him. Sometimes they’re dark and painful things. His worst recurring dream, the number of people he’s seen die in front of him. Doubts. Sorrows. Injustices. Things that awake in Kanan a fierce, fatherly instinct to nurture and protect.</p><p>And sometimes they’re things so awful that even the Dark Side pales in comparison.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>They’re working on Ezra’s focus today. The Empty Stomach Challenge, Kanan calls it.</p><p>“You’re not always going to be fit and well-rested. Sometimes you’re going to be hungry and tired, maybe even wounded, but you need to learn to quiet these signals from your body and keep your mind on your objective. It’s just mortal pain. Remember that.”</p><p>“Mortal pain sucks,” Ezra mutters.</p><p>“It does. But you can master it. Now—deep breath in. And hold. And out. And… reach.”</p><p>They’re sitting cross-legged before one another in a field of magenta ryhia grass on Sigma Dregan, their eyes closed. The sky is a rich purple with tall golden clouds. It’s late in the day, the last of the three small suns is about to set in the north, and it’s been nearly 36 hours since either of them have eaten. The acid in Ezra’s empty stomach is making him queasy. He’s tired, shaky, and cranky. So is Kanan, but he’s better at managing it. </p><p>The promise of food, sitting in a box nearby and to be enjoyed upon completion of the lesson, isn’t helping matters. It’s part of the training, Kanan told him. Quieting the temptation, the urgent need for relief and satiation. Ignore the flesh, the moment, the impermanent. Focus on the Force, which is everything the flesh is not.</p><p>“Concentrate, Ezra,” Kanan murmurs. “You can’t connect with the Force when your head is cluttered with noise. You must quiet it.”</p><p>“I’m <em> trying</em>,” Ezra snaps, “but you keep interrupting me.”</p><p>“I keep interrupting you because you look like you’re about to pop every blood vessel in your body. Relax.”</p><p>“You tell me to concentrate, then you tell me to relax! Which is it? I can’t do both!”</p><p>“Yes, you can. Release the tension from your body first. Just let it go. Relax your face, drop your shoulders. Go from head to toe, releasing the tension from every muscle… that's better. Now: turn your mind into an impenetrable room, unable to be influenced by outside forces. Nothing can get in or out except what you allow. This is one of the biggest, most basic stepping stones when it comes to using the Force. Master this and you will have laid the groundwork on which so many other skills are built. This is also why fasting is such an important part of Jedi training. With the body in a state of repair, the mind can—”</p><p>Ezra’s stomach makes a noise like a dying Purrgil.</p><p>Kanan has to suppress a smile. “It’s just a little discomfort. Don’t worry, we’ll be done soon.”</p><p>“Honestly, that’s the worst part. I’d feel a lot better if it wasn’t sitting over there and staring at me.”</p><p>“Look at it as a reassurance, not a temptation. Your needs will be met. Take comfort in that. Until then, do what must be done. Accomplish your goal. You can do it. I believe in you… and more importantly, I think you believe in you, too. Come on, Padawan.”</p><p>Ezra lets out a long breath. “Just a little discomfort…”</p><p>Roughly six minutes later, a crow of triumph startles Kanan from his meditative state.</p><p>“I can sense them, Kanan! I can hear them!”</p><p>“Good! Where are they? Can you see?”</p><p>“Yeah! They’re by a huge lake. The water is light blue and really cloudy. It looks like milk. And there’s… the lake’s in some kind of huge flower field. I think it smells nice there?”</p><p>“That’s Lake Dregan. Good work. Mission accomp—”</p><p>“It <em> does </em> smell nice there, I just heard Sabine say so! Her and Zeb are picking some of the flowers. They’re big and white and they have a yellow center. The petals are sparkly. Sabine says some kind of medicine can be made with them. And Hera and Chopper are working on something on the <em> Ghost</em>… I think they’re cleaning out the air filtering system. Chopper just dropped something big. Now Hera’s shaking her head and saying something about recalibrating him with a hammer… no, wait, she didn’t say that out loud. She just thought it. Huh. Sure sounded loud enough.”</p><p>Kanan is impressed; that’s far more detail than he was expecting from Ezra’s first time using Force Sight. A proud but nervous smile comes to his lips.</p><p>“I think it’s safe to say you’ve completed today’s lesson, Padawan Bridger. Congratulations.”</p><p>Ezra’s eyes pop open. “Can we eat now?”</p><p>Kanan chuckles and rises to his feet. “Yeah, come on.”</p><p>They sit side by side on the crest of a small hill, watching the sun go down behind the trees while they eat a light meal of rehydrated protein mash and grains, vegetable crackers, and water flavored with powdered linglok fruit. Linglok is full of vitamins and minerals and electrolytes, the perfect thing for people who haven’t eaten in a while. Ezra downs his first three cups and tears open another packet, empties the powder into his canteen, adds water and shakes it up. Then he digs his spoon into his bowl of mash and crams it into his mouth.</p><p>“Don’t eat too fast,” Kanan warns. “You’ll get sick.”</p><p>“I always eat this way.”</p><p>“You should slow down. It’s easier on your stomach, especially after fasting.”</p><p>“Nah, I’m used to it.” Ezra abandons his spoon and uses one of his crackers to scoop up his mash. It all vanishes into his mouth with a huge crunch. He chews, his cheek bulging absurdly.</p><p>Kanan’s fond look turns melancholy. “You must have gone hungry pretty often on Lothal.”</p><p>Ezra shrugs one shoulder. “Mm, sometimes. Just part of being on your own, I guess. You learn to eat quick, especially if it’s stolen food. It’s not like they really want it back after it’s been eaten, right?” He makes a funny face and mimes the act of vomiting. “Bleuuugh!”</p><p>Kanan grins. “Yeah, I guess not.”</p><p>Ezra drains his cup in a single gulp and pours another from his canteen. “There was a major supply shortage a couple years after my parents… after I was on my own,” he says at length. </p><p>Kanan was already listening, but now he straightens his back, comes to full attention. The flower is about to bloom again. He doesn’t want to miss a thing.</p><p>“The Empire destroyed all the roads to and from Capital City,” Ezra continues. “They were gonna rebuild them, they said. Improve them. But everyone knew it was just a plot to stop intercity trade and force the people to rely on Imperial supplies. Make it to where they totally depended upon them. The local government resisted for a while, but they gave in when the people started protesting.”</p><p>Kanan frowns. “The people protested their own government? I thought they were against the Imperial occupation?”</p><p>“They were, but.” A shrug. “They were hungry. They didn’t care who had the food as long as they got it. You know what they say: civilized society is only three missed meals away from total anarchy. The shortage lasted for years.” </p><p>Ezra narrows his eyes against the wind and fishes another cracker from the packet.</p><p>“How did you manage to survive?” asks Kanan softly. “I mean, being on your own at seven years old, no parents, no protection, having to provide for yourself… not many could have done that.”</p><p>Ezra nibbles his cracker instead of eating it whole this time. “I made acquaintances. Drug dealers, prostitutes, thieves. They felt sorry for me because I was so young. They would feed me, throw me a ration bar or a piece of fruit every now and then, and I’d hang around for a bit. But I didn’t trust any of them. I would always leave after a while. I knew it was safer to be on my own.”</p><p>Kanan grimly absorbs this information. “Were there no orphanages you could go to? No foster homes?”</p><p>“They’d all been taken over by the Empire, turned into their own little Stormtrooper factories.” Ezra shakes his head. “They were always trying to round up the stray orphans, ones like me who were still on the street. ‘Get ’em while they’re young’ they used to say. ‘They’re easier to program.’”</p><p>“That’s… terrible,” says Kanan at last.</p><p>Ezra shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “I could run and I could hide. And I was pretty small. I learned to be quiet. I could escape most people’s notice, fit into tight spaces, things like that. I hung around the Imperial barracks a lot. Sometimes the Troopers, the ones who weren’t hunting me down, they would give me food. Once I learned where they kept it, I started stealing it. That’s how I learned to break into stuff. I think a lot of them knew I was doing it but didn’t report me. I was just a homeless little kid to them. They didn’t care about a few stolen supplies. They were just regular people underneath that armor. Most of them, anyway. But when the shortage happened, that was the worst it ever got for me.”</p><p>Kanan doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t think his heart can take it. But he asks anyway. </p><p>“How bad?”</p><p>“Mm.” Ezra winces as if he suddenly got a sour taste in his mouth. “Bad enough that even the rich people had nothing. The Imperial storehouses were locked up and put on guard. I almost got caught a few times, barely escaped that last time. That’s saying a lot considering I can escape from just about anything. Anyway, I gave up after that and lived off whatever I could find on the streets. There was nothing to steal unless we stole from each other. That happened a lot. Everyone was desperate. Only people with connections to the Empire had anything, but even they didn’t have much.”</p><p>“And yet you survived.”</p><p>Ezra smiles with half of his mouth. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” he says with a strained grin. </p><p>Kanan doesn’t buy it for one second. </p><p>“It takes more than the will of a child to fill an empty belly day after day. Or are you telling me you were just that good a thief?” </p><p>He doesn’t mean for his words to come out so accusatory, but he senses there’s something Ezra wants to tell him. Something he wants to get off his chest. Something heavy and… dark. Ugly.</p><p>A cloud rolls over the sun and a breeze ruffles Ezra’s hair. “I did a bunch of things. I stole nav cards and power cells out of speeders and shuttles and traded them for food. Sometimes I got work as a delivery boy. I’m sure I was carrying all kinds of illegal things in those containers, but no one would suspect a kid of transporting spice or blasters or anything like that. And other times…” He licks his lips. “Other times all I had to do was stay for a couple hours at somebody’s house. I’d walk away with a week’s worth of rations. I liked those jobs, even though they… well, at least they paid well.”</p><p>“They who? Imperial officers?”</p><p>“I dunno. I never knew their real names. They only went by the names of the masks they wore.”</p><p>“Wh—<em>masks</em>?”</p><p>“Yeah, not helmets but like… old fashioned costume masks that hid their faces. You know, like in a circus. There was Black Feather and Blue Tiger, a bunch of others. Maybe a dozen. They said it was all part of the game, but I knew it was so I couldn’t identify them if I saw them on the street. I was young, but I wasn’t as dumb as they thought I was.”</p><p>Kanan’s mouth has gone dry, but his throat feels too tight to allow a single drop of liquid to pass. He finally manages to rasp, “What happened at these houses, Ezra? What did you do?”</p><p>Ezra takes a sudden interest in the grass between his feet. “Most of the time all I had to do was take off my clothes and sit with them while they had… meetings, I guess they were. Lunch conferences or something. Everything was weird. I didn’t understand what was going on half the time or what they were even talking about. They used some kinda code language, lots of shortened words. Sometimes they took holos of me just sitting on pillows or posing with statues in gardens. Things like that.”</p><p>Kanan can hear his own heart pounding in his ears. A powerful wave of shock, anger, and disgust rolls through him. “Did they touch you?”</p><p>A full minute seems to pass.</p><p>“Sometimes.”</p><p>Kanan stares at the side of Ezra’s face. The breeze picks up again, tousling his hair.</p><p>“They always gave me more if they touched me. They were fair, at least. Nice to me. Told me I was… that I had pretty eyes.” He smiles and looks up at Kanan. </p><p>His eyes <em> are </em>pretty, Kanan thinks. Not quite blue, not quite violet, but something in between. Indigo, perhaps. </p><p>“It was nice to be complimented for once. I was so used to people yelling at me and calling me ugly names.”</p><p>There is nothing Kanan can say. Nothing can even come close.</p><p>“Sometimes I would get a bath as part of the deal,” says Ezra in a lighter tone. “Not a regular bath, but like… a <em> rich people </em>bath. That was always nice. Hot water and bubbles in a tub so deep you could—you could sit down and the water would come up to your chin. And oils. All kinds of oils that smelled so good, and bars of soap carved to look like animals, big fluffy white towels. It was awesome. You ever have a bath like that, Kanan?”</p><p>Kanan forces his throat to work. “No. No, I don’t think I have.”</p><p>Ezra nods and looks down into his cup, tilts it back and forth to roll the contents around the bottom. Kanan notices his nails are chewed down to the quick. How has he never noticed that Ezra’s nails are chewed to the quick, or that his knuckles are so large compared to his slim fingers, as if they have been repeatedly busted and cracked? And how has he never noticed the way Ezra rubs his lips when he’s anxious or upset? How has he missed all the signs that point to… to him being… </p><p>“The only bad thing was sometimes they would wash me.”</p><p>Suddenly Kanan’s eyes are burning. He shuts them and presses his tightly clenched fist to his mouth.</p><p>“They would say their hands slipped, but I knew it wasn’t an accident. They were touching me on purpose. It wasn’t too bad, though. They always paid me more, and they were gentle, never hurt me. It… kinda felt good sometimes. But as I got older, they invited me over less and less. By the time I was eleven they had stopped completely. I guess maybe I got too old for them. But by then the shortage was over, so I didn’t need to go to their little meetings or whatever anymore.”</p><p>Kanan opens his eyes and stares into the sunset. Tears glisten, threatening to spill.</p><p>Ezra scratches his cup with a blunt thumbnail. “Don’t tell the others, okay? I don’t want ’em to get freaked out.”</p><p><em> Like I’m not? </em>Kanan thinks almost hysterically. But all he says is “Okay.”</p><p>Silence falls. A bird soars overhead, squawking and shrilling. Ezra carefully folds his empty cracker packet and puts it in his pocket, even though the wrapper is entirely biodegradable and safe to be discarded anywhere.</p><p><em> Probably a habit he picked up on the streets</em>, Kanan thinks. <em> Waste nothing. Leave no trace. He’s more of a specter than any of us. </em></p><p>Then, without a word, Ezra shyly scoots over and leans into Kanan’s side, rests his head against his shoulder.</p><p>Though Kanan hasn’t known him for long, he knows that it isn’t like Ezra Bridger to just cuddle up to someone. This is something new. This is… </p><p> <em>Hold me. Please.</em>
</p><p>Kanan’s first instinct is to recoil—<em>don’t touch him, he’s been hurt, he’s damaged, be careful, stay back, you can’t help him</em>—but he finds his arm automatically wrapping around Ezra’s shoulders, obeying the request he heard in his head. He feels Ezra’s small body relax beneath his hand, smells the odor of his clothes and sweat and unwashed hair. </p><p>“I’d like to have a rich-people bath again someday,” he sighs. “But without… y’know. <em> Them</em>. Without having to do anything to earn it. That’d be nice.”</p><p>The images come unbidden to Kanan’s mind: soap and bare skin; suds, bubbles; Ezra’s boyish grin and crackly, pubescent laugh; his wet hair and clean face, dark lashes clumped together, eyes sparkling and happy. He lifts his hand and blows a thick drift of bubbles into the air, crinkles his nose and laughs. No dark shadows watching from the corners. No recorders running, no click of cameras.</p><p>Just Ezra Bridger, safe and happy and free.</p><p>Kanan is disciplined enough to keep his thoughts above the water, locked onto Ezra’s sweet, wholesome face. Because as long as he’s focused on Ezra’s sweet, wholesome face, he isn’t thinking about a stranger’s hand between Ezra’s thighs, fondling his hairless eight-year-old genitals and pretending to be sorry because they weren’t really sorry, it wasn’t an accident, they were perverts and liars, they were predators, monsters. They touched Ezra and were conditioning him before he even knew the word for what they were doing to him—<em>molesting him</em>, Kanan’s mind hisses, they <em>molested him</em>—and somewhere out there those holos are likely still circulating, recordings of tiny little Ezra Bridger, naked and confused, betrayed by the adults who should have been protecting him. Kanan wants to find them all and kill them. Utterly destroy them. Choke the life from their bodies and then drag his lightsaber through their corpses, eviscerate them, spill their guts out and—</p><p>Ezra shivers against him.</p><p>Kanan lets go of his black thoughts with a gasp. His heart is pounding. He turns his head and presses his lips to Ezra’s hair, breathes deep, closes his eyes.</p><p>Vengeance is not what good Jedi Masters seek. Justice, yes, but not rage-driven acts of retribution. Good Jedi Masters don’t allow their emotions to run riot over them. Good Jedi Masters don’t fantasize about death and destruction, don’t want to kill for the satisfaction of it.</p><p>But he isn’t really a Jedi Master, is he? No. Not Kanan Jarrus. Not at all.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, “that’d be nice.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Catch my breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A strong but uncontrolled Force Bond results in a sticky situation.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When it rains, it pours.</p><p>Things have been uneventful for a while. No catastrophes, no accidents, no mishaps or close calls. They are able to keep fuel in the <em> Ghost </em>and food in their bellies, help a few people in need, and Kanan can finally look at Ezra again without automatically being assailed by mental images of a naked little boy pulling away from the groping, shadowy hands surrounding him.</p><p>Then Empire Day happens and everything turns to shit.</p><p>Not only is it Ezra’s fifteenth birthday—Kanan wishes he had known; maybe he could have done something nice for him—but they end up rescuing an old friend of the Bridger family who is now an Imperial deserter, mentally compromised, and desperately wanted by the Empire. They get tagged with an Imperial tracking device while fleeing their enemies, and Kanan and Ezra pull out with the <em> Phantom </em>during a hyperspace leap and end up at Fort Anaxes, eventually coming face to face with the Inquisitor for a second time. </p><p>After a vicious fight in which he is both outmaneuvered and outmatched, Kanan is knocked senseless by the Inquisitor and ends up being saved by Ezra, who unwittingly opens himself to the Dark Side. Overwhelmed by the negative energy flowing through him, Ezra passes out. Kanan scoops up his unconscious Padawan and barely manages to escape the Inquisitor’s deadly dual lightsabers.</p><p>The flight back to the <em> Ghost </em>is a quiet one. When they disembark, Ezra immediately goes and hides in the nose turret and doesn’t come out, not even for dinner. Sabine brings him his meal and stays with him for a little while before returning to the galley. She shakes her head at the questioning looks she receives from the others. </p><p>“I tried,” she says.</p><p>Kanan also tries; tries to not let his worry consume him. He doesn’t even know what’s bothering Ezra the most: the miserable birthday, all the emotional scabs that finding Tseebo has ripped open again, or what happened at the Fort. Maybe it’s something completely different. All Kanan knows is that he’s exhausted.</p><p>That night, maybe a half hour after he has gone to bed, he’s woken by a soft rapping on his doors. “Can I come in?”</p><p>It’s Ezra, and he sounds like he’s seven years old.</p><p>Kanan blinks himself awake. “Yeah, come in.”</p><p>The doors slide open and Ezra steps inside. They whoosh shut behind him, blacking out the dim yellow light that had momentarily spilled in from the passageway.</p><p>Kanan props himself up on one elbow, hair falling loosely around his face. “Everything okay?”</p><p>Ezra, wearing only a pair of military-issue briefs and a tank top, anxiously rubs his bare arm. </p><p>“Yeah, it’s. I was just, um. I was wondering if I could… if, if you would let me… maybe, uh…”</p><p>He squirms. His toes curl against the cold metal floor, knees grinding against one another. His face is red with embarrassment.</p><p>Kanan knows what he’s asking; he doesn’t need the Force to understand that. He draws his blanket back and holds it up, revealing his bare chest, wrinkled pajama pants, and the empty space beside him.</p><p>Ezra drops his shoulders, relieved. He pads across the room and climbs into Kanan’s bunk. Kanan drops the blanket over Ezra and scoots closer to the wall to give him more space. After a few moments of working out how to share the pillow, they settle and go still, Kanan on his side, Ezra lying on his back.</p><p>“Thanks,” Ezra whispers.</p><p>“No problem.”</p><p>Heat radiates from Ezra’s body like a small sun. He fidgets beside Kanan, goes still, scratches an itch on his leg, inhales deeply, fidgets again.</p><p>“You’re restless,” Kanan mumbles without opening his eyes.</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay. Been a restless kind of day.”</p><p>The heating system overhead powers down, leaving only the fan whirring. Kanan can hear the click of Ezra’s eyes as he blinks in the dark.</p><p>“What’s on your mind, Ezra?”</p><p>“Nothing… much. It’s just I can’t stop thinking about what happened today.”</p><p>“A lot of things happened today.”</p><p>“You know. On the asteroid. When I…”</p><p>A long pause follows. Just when Kanan thinks Ezra has given up, he suddenly begins to babble.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to use Dark Side, Kanan, honest! Please don’t stop teaching me. It was an accident, I swear. I didn’t know what I was doing, I was just so—I was just so scared and angry. He said he was gonna kill you, he was gonna kill us both—”</p><p>“Whoa, whoa, hey, I’m not going to stop teaching you, Ezra. It wasn’t your fault that you lost control. You couldn’t help it. It’s okay—”</p><p>“No, it’s not!” Ezra’s voice is crackling with unshed tears. “What if I let too much of the Dark Side into me and now it’s stuck in there and it’s just gonna keep growing and growing? What if I just ruined my chances to become a Jedi?”</p><p>“That isn’t how the Force works, Ezra.”</p><p>“Are you <em> sure</em>? I mean, are you <em> sure </em>you’re sure?”</p><p>Kanan almost smiles. “Yeah, I’m sure.”</p><p>A few tense seconds pass in which Ezra waits, perhaps feeling for the lie in Kanan’s words. When he detects none, he sighs like he’s been holding his breath for the last three hours.</p><p>Kanan reaches out and lays his hand gently in the center of Ezra’s chest. He can feel the rapid thud of his heart. Ezra immediately puts his hand on top of Kanan’s, forming three layers of blood and bone and flesh.</p><p>“It’ll be okay,” Kanan murmurs. “I’m not going to leave you. We’re going to fix this, don’t worry. I know what to do now. We’ll get everything sorted out. Trust me. You’re not broken, you didn’t do a bad thing, you’re not going to turn evil or have the Dark Side stuck inside you forever. Besides, I’d be a pretty lousy Master if I abandoned my Padawan now, when he needs me most.”</p><p>Ezra sucks in a wet, congested breath, and Kanan knows he’s crying. “Is that true?” he croaks. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”</p><p>“I would never lie to you, Ezra. Definitely not about something like this. I mean it.” He presses down on Ezra’s chest, hoping the weight might be reassuring.</p><p>Ezra sniffs and wipes his eyes with the back of his arm. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be so… like this.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“You know… weak.” Sniff. “Needy. Like a scared little kid. I just turned fifteen, but here I am, acting like I’m five.”</p><p>“You’re not weak, Ezra. You’re tired and worried, and you have a lot on your mind right now. That’s all it is. Things will look better in the morning, I promise.”</p><p>Ezra turns his head to face Kanan. In the dim light he looks miserable, utterly defeated. Red, puffy eyes. Blotchy skin. Runny nose. Kanan can hear his thoughts as loudly as if he has spoken them. </p><p>“You are <em>not</em> ruined, Ezra Bridger. And I am not going to leave you—not for this, not for anything that happened in your past, nor for anything that is yet to come. Being a Master is a long term commitment, one that I intend to see through to the end. You’re more than just my Apprentice. You’re my crewmate. You’re my friend. I love you. And I never, <em> never </em>give up on the people I love. That’s a promise, Ezra.”</p><p>Ezra hiccups, blinks, and two fresh, fat tears skid sideways down his face. </p><p>Kanan rubs the boy’s chest. “Try to get some sleep, okay? You’ve had a big day. We both have.”</p><p>With a nod and another swipe of his arm across his face, Ezra heaves a sigh and closes his eyes. He weaves his fingers together with Kanan’s.</p><p>Their hands remain clasped together all night long.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>The next day they arrive on Lothal, and Kanan presents Ezra with another task: finding the hidden Jedi temple. He’s much quicker to locate it than he was the <em> Ghost </em>and her crew on Sigma Dregan, and together Master and Padawan enter the temple.</p><p>The experience is more challenging for Ezra than it is for Kanan, but with the guidance of a wise old Master, the two emerge stronger and more confident in themselves and each other.</p><p>And Ezra acquiring a kyber crystal is a very good omen.</p><p>They remain on Lothal that night, in a remote region far from occupation. The weather is cool in this part of the hemisphere, the skies clear and the air crisp, and Kanan takes advantage of the opportunity to sleep in a natural atmosphere. He drags a bedroll, his pillow, and a spare utility blanket outside and sets up a crude sleeping pallet. A night under the stars, breathing the fresh air and physically connected to the living world, is always preferable to sleeping in a tin can.</p><p>He doesn’t expect Ezra to come tiptoeing down the ramp after everyone has gone to bed, though.</p><p>Dressed in an oversized shirt that hangs to his knees, hair still damp and fresh from his recent shower, Ezra crouches down beside his Master and asks, “What are you doing out here?”</p><p>“Working on my tan. What are <em> you </em>doing out here?”</p><p>“Looking for <em> you</em>. You weren’t in your cabin.” The tone is almost accusing.</p><p>“I try to sleep outdoors when I can. It’s good to be in contact with natural energies. Earth, water, air. Helps to strengthen your connection to the Force.”</p><p>“Oh. So you won’t mind if I join you? I mean, I <em> do</em> need to strengthen my connections and all that.”</p><p>Kanan cracks open one eye. “Go get another bedroll. This one isn’t big enough.”</p><p>Ezra disappears with a grin. A few minutes later a bedroll and pillow land right beside Kanan’s, and Ezra plops down. Kanan rearranges the blanket so they can both share it. Ezra doesn’t nestle up to him like he did last night, but he’s close enough that Kanan can feel the bump of Ezra’s bony knee against his thigh and his warm breath on his neck.</p><p>For a while they lie there under the stars and the moons, listening to the quiet chatter of night insects and each other breathing.</p><p>“Kanan?” Ezra asks softly.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Can I ask you something? A serious question?”</p><p>Kanan’s gut instantly clenches. “Sure.”</p><p>“The Inquisitor… do you think he files his teeth into sharp points or are they just <em> like that</em>?”</p><p>A beat passes, then Kanan barks and begins to laugh. Uncontrollably. Ezra joins him, and their voices carry across the grassland and are swallowed by the night.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Kanan gasps at last. “I haven’t met many Pau’ans. Maybe you can ask him yourself next time we see him.”</p><p>“And die two seconds later? Uh, yeah, no, thanks.”</p><p>They fall into another fit of laughter. Eventually their chuckles die down and they both heave a sigh. Kanan gets the feeling Ezra is staring at him, and he turns his head to see that he is, those indigo eyes bright and shining, a warm smile on his lips.</p><p>
  <em>Love you. </em>
</p><p>Kanan feels the words before he hears them. They’re loud, powerful, and certain. His heart swells and a flood of deep, abiding affection courses through his entire body. Maybe it’s their proximity to one another, maybe it’s being this close and connected to the Force, but it takes his breath away. For a moment it feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. When he finally regains his breath, it’s with a whispered “Ezra” on his lips.</p><p>Ezra scoots closer and lays his hand on Kanan’s chest, rests his chin on Kanan’s shoulder, and shuts his eyes. Still smiling.</p><p>Kanan places his hand on top of Ezra’s and winds their fingers together.</p><p>When they finally fall asleep, their minds relax and gently open like night-blooming flowers, allowing their dreams to mingle like nocturnal creatures beneath the stars.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>Something happens when two people continually open themselves to one another. A closeness is established, one more intimate than that shared by spouses, more profound than a parent with their child, more familiar than two old friends who have known each other their entire lives.</p><p>Kanan has only known Ezra for six months, but he cares for the boy as if he were his own flesh and blood. He loves him. He helps him. He listens to him. He strives to be a better person because of him. He now has a thousand reasons to worry because Ezra is part of his life. Death, danger, and destruction follow Spectre Crew wherever they go, and Ezra is among their number now, the youngest, the most inexperienced. The instinct to shield him from harm is strong. Very strong. Kanan cannot deny that he is deeply attached to the boy, probably far beyond what is acceptable for Master and Padawan.</p><p>He doesn’t care. Things are different now. The conditions that governed the old Jedi Order are as dead as its members. If Ezra wants to think of him as a big brother or a surrogate father and love him as such, then so be it. They certainly bicker like parent and child—correction: parent and <em> young man</em>. Because Ezra’s greatest annoyance, as Kanan has learned, is being treated or even thought of as a child. Nor is Ezra hesitant to remind him that he has been looking after himself since he was <em> seven years old</em>, thank you very much, and it would be great if his Master would show a little confidence in his judgement once in a while.</p><p>Conversely, Kanan’s greatest annoyance is being challenged, disobeyed, and disrespected by people who haven’t been alive long enough to defer to, much less appreciate, an elder’s wisdom and experience. Teenagers, in other words. But Kanan has the maturity to handle these personal affronts without snapping and sulking. Ezra doesn’t.</p><p>Though his Jedi training mitigates some of the worst of his attitude, Ezra is still prone to being stubborn and petulant. Kanan is certain he’ll grow out of it eventually, but it doesn’t stop him from lecturing him about it. In excruciating, lengthy detail. Ezra will decide when he’s heard enough and storm off with a snort, ignoring the commands to “Get back here this <em>instant</em>, Ezra Bridger, I did <em> not </em>dismiss you yet!”</p><p>Sometimes Ezra will respond with a rude hand gesture or comment and keep walking, and then Hera has to step in and physically stop Kanan from chasing the boy down and making things even worse.</p><p>“Let him go,” she says calmly. “He’s fifteen. That’s a difficult age for even a normal kid, and Ezra isn’t exactly normal.”</p><p>She’s right, of course. All Kanan can do is relent and sigh. “Damn it. I’m being too hard on him again, aren’t I?”</p><p>“A little.” Hera winks. “The galaxy wasn’t formed in a day, and Padawan Bridger isn’t going to become a Jedi Master overnight, so slow down. Give him time and space. And instead of reprimanding him, maybe try gently correcting him. Remind him of some of the positive things he’s already accomplished before you give him the third degree. Frame your criticism with compliments. Never end on a negative note. That’ll be a lot more effective than just piling a lot of stress and responsibility on him.”</p><p>“That’s… really good advice, actually,” says Kanan humbly. “Maybe <em> you </em> should be teaching him.”</p><p>“Then who would fly the ship?” She playfully punches his shoulder. “Give him half an hour, then go talk to him. And don’t be afraid to apologize. Sometimes that’s the best thing a boy his age can hear, especially coming from someone he looks up to. Oh, don’t look so surprised. You’re his hero, he wants to be just like you! Everyone knows that.”</p><p>“Everyone but me, apparently.”</p><p>Hera smiles. “Just let him know you’re sorry. It’s a great way to tell him you care about him.”</p><p>“He already knows I care about him.”</p><p>“Does he?”</p><p>“Well, yeah, of course. Everything I’ve been doing lately is for him.”</p><p>Hera tilts her head. “Actions are one thing, Kanan. Sometimes people need to hear it as well as see it. Only then does it become real to them.”</p><p>Kanan meditates on her words. And when he seeks out Ezra a little while later, he opens with an awkward apology and an explanation for his overbearing actions.</p><p>Immediately Ezra’s whole demeanor changes. He goes from bitter and guarded to neutral and open. He offers up his own apology, and clear communication is reestablished between them. They talk at length, sharing their feelings with honesty and humility, and close with a joint promise to do better in the future. The deal is sealed with a hug, one that makes Hera smile proudly when she peeks in on them to see how things are going.</p><p>With every disagreement that drives them apart, there is always an opportunity for a truce, one that will serve to bring them even closer to each other than they were before.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>In the following weeks, Ezra completes construction on his lightsaber and continues to make steady progress with his training. Kanan is feeling more effective, more patient, and his own skills seem to be improving. As steel sharpens steel, so Master and Padawan sharpen one another. They are more coordinated when they practice forms now, moving in tandem like two dancers rehearsing a well-known routine. Kanan can sense himself growing stronger with the Force, reforging that connection he had lost years ago, finding his footing once more, advancing. He and Ezra have begun to meditate together, and needless to say, their Force Bond is growing stronger by the day.</p><p>This does, of course, come with some unintended consequences. Certain things, like powerful emotions and physical reactions, can passively seep through their connection and reach the other person. These accidental transmissions are typically nothing important; random glimpses into each other’s heads that are quickly and politely shut down once detected.</p><p>But first they must be detected.</p><p>One night Kanan is woken from a bewildering dream to an erection that is almost painful. He’s throbbing, his testicles aching, and he discovers he has already made a mess of his pajamas earlier while he was asleep. Before he can reach down and take care of himself, the arousal that has been building inside him suddenly and unexpectedly crests. He bites back a cry and ejaculates a second time, completely untouched.</p><p>He lies on his back for several minutes, blinking up at the bulkhead and trying to catch his breath. This hasn’t happened to him since his late teens. Maybe he’s been neglectful of taking care of his sexual needs lately. Too many things to do; missions, training, running, planning. Maybe his system just needed release and couldn’t wait for him to help it along.</p><p>Exhausted and irritated, he throws back the covers and climbs out of his bunk. The front of his pants have a huge wet spot showing from the outside, and they feel much worse on the inside. A sticky, soupy mess. It’s late, the ship is quiet, so he slips out of his cabin and goes to the head to clean himself up.</p><p>The second he reaches the door it slides open and reveals Ezra. The boy recoils with a yelp and blushes—no, his face was already red to begin with, Kanan notices, and he looks sweaty, too. He’s also naked from the waist up: narrow shoulders that are just beginning to broaden; a surprisingly well-developed chest; slim, childlike arms filling out with adolescent muscle; a flat belly still clinging to what little baby fat it ever had. He’s holding his bundled tank top in front of his hips as if he’s hiding something.</p><p>Kanan realizes too late that he’s still semi-erect. He claps his hands over his crotch and turns to the side, but Ezra, eyes already drawn downward, sees his Master’s state.</p><p>“Oh!” He throws his gaze in the opposite direction. “God. Sorry. I was just—I had to pee. I was just leaving. Guess I drank too much before bed.” He laughs feebly, revealing the lie.</p><p>“Yeah, no, it’s okay, it’s fine.” Kanan nods mechanically. “These things happen. Nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone… pees.”</p><p>“Yeah, heh, guess so.” Ezra sidesteps awkwardly past Kanan. “Well, I’m just… gonna get back to bed now.” He jerks his thumb toward the wrong end of the passageway. </p><p>“Good. Good idea.” Kanan half-salutes, half-waves. “Sleep tight.”</p><p>“Uh, thanks, you too.”</p><p>Ezra turns and bolts back to his cabin like he’s fleeing the scene of a crime. Kanan throws himself into the head and shuts the door, and at last the agony is over.</p><p>Not really.</p><p>He finds himself face to face with his disheveled reflection. He takes a deep breath, heaves it out, and leans both hands on the edge of the metal sink. He hangs his head. Brown locks spill down to form a curtain around his overheated face. He turns on the tap, splashes some water on his cheeks, and lifts his head again.</p><p>The thoughts that have been scratching at the back of his mind now tear their way through with savage, hungry claws.</p><p>Ezra was in here only a few minutes ago, masturbating. Kanan knows it. He felt it. He experienced it in his sleep. He can still smell the faint scent of Ezra’s hair and body odor in here, and something else. Something ripe. Something fleshy and intimate. Sex, seed, ecstasy. It has saturated the small room. Kanan wonders what or who Ezra was thinking about as he touched himself. Probably Sabine. Surely Sabine. She’s close to his age, very pretty, and Ezra seems to fancy her. It would be the most logical option for a young male’s romantic interests. Good and normal and healthy, typical for a teenage boy—</p><p>Kanan blinks and suddenly the image in the mirror changes. Now it’s Ezra’s face he sees. Ezra, his dark, sweat-damp hair brushing the bridge of his nose and clinging to his forehead. His arm working rapidly at something below the mirror’s edge. The smack of skin, the huff of breath. His eyes closed, his mouth open, lips moving. Whispering something. Two syllables. The wet flash of his tongue behind his teeth, forming the word. </p><p>
  <em>Kanan.</em>
</p><p>Kanan sucks in a breath and shuts his eyes, shakes his head, opens them again. He’s staring at himself once more, wide-eyed, startled. But it’s too late. It’s there in his mind, planted like a hideous seed.</p><p>Did that really happen? Was Ezra really fantasizing about him? Or is that… is that what Kanan would <em> like </em>to believe?</p><p>Arousal flares through him like incendiaries, igniting the blood in his veins. He’s growing hard again, his cock swelling and sticking straight out, and if he’s getting hard then so is—</p><p>No. He doesn’t want it to be true. It can’t be true. Can it? But the connection is there. He can feel it. He needs relief, needs to do something <em> now</em>. He burns for it. He has to. He <em>has to</em>.</p><p>Kanan grabs the waist of his pants and yanks them down around his thighs. His penis bounces out, its leaking eye pointed to the ceiling. He grasps it gently—as if it’s Ezra he’s touching—and begins to pump.</p><p>He takes his time, drawing long, heavy breaths through his nose and exhaling them with measured beats. <em>This is how men do it</em>, he imagines he’s telling Ezra, and he isn’t even alarmed by how easily the words and images form in his mind. <em>Slow and thorough. Don’t rush to the finish. The build is the best part. Patience, Padawan. Focus on the pleasure.</em> He cups his (Ezra’s) balls and gently rolls them in the palm of his hand. <em>How does it feel? </em></p><p><em>S-so good</em>, he imagines Ezra gasping, squirming under his touch, bucking his hips. <em>So good, Master. But please… please, I need more of you. I want you… want you in me. </em></p><p>“Fuck,” Kanan grunts. His arm works faster now, his fist sliding up and down, drawing his foreskin over the head and pulling it back down again, creating delicious friction against his frenulum.</p><p>
  <em>Please, Kanan. I want you inside.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Not yet. You’re too young, I can’t… a few more years, Ezra. Just a few more years, honey, and if you still feel this way about me… I’ll be right here. </em>
</p><p><em>But I need you </em> now<em>, Kanan. Please, I want you to be my first. </em></p><p>And suddenly Kanan sees. He sees himself lying on his side beside Ezra, in bed, his arms around the boy’s waist, kissing his shoulder, nuzzling his hair. A sweet, warm scent in the air. His hips rolling, his cock gliding between Ezra’s buttocks, slick with oil. Ezra’s moans in his ear, making him leak. The taste of his skin, the throb of his pulse beneath Kanan’s lips. He spreads the fleshy cheeks and lines himself up, pushes in—so tight, so hot, so slippery—and Ezra clenches around him—</p><p>A sharp moan suddenly echoes from down the passageway, and Kanan freezes. Then the voice of Zeb Orrelios growls, “You had <em> better </em>be having a nightmare, kid, or I swear you’ll never sleep in here again.”</p><p>Shock. Embarrassment. Annoyance at the interruption, the dampening of his pleasure. Kanan feels each emotion in rapid succession and knows they are Ezra’s.</p><p>He pinches his lips between his teeth and resumes stroking.</p><p>
  <em>Gotta be quiet now, Ezra. Calm and cool. Breathe through your nose. Yes… yes, almost there. Almost there, Ezra, are you ready for it, honey? Here it comes. Here we come. Together. Come for me, Ezra. Quietly, honey, shh, shh… </em>
</p><p>He doesn’t know if he hears the squeak with his ears or his mind, but it’s the only sound Ezra makes. Quiet enough, apparently. No further threats from down the passageway.</p><p>Kanan comes hard, his body shuddering with pleasure and relief as he spills into his cupped hand. It isn’t much; there’s barely anything left in him after two recent climaxes. He twitches, gives up one last pearly drop, then slumps back against the bulkhead and sighs, spent. He straightens up after regaining his breath and washes his hands, then proceeds to clean himself with a warm, wet cloth. He would like to do this to Ezra. Wipe the seed from his soft belly, brush the hair from his eyes. Kiss his hot, sweaty forehead. Take care of him, tell him how good he is, how well he did. Show him how much— </p><p>He meets his own eyes in the mirror. The connection drops, and now it’s just Kanan Jarrus, Spectre-1, alone in the head, mopping the dried semen out of his pubic hair after using a Force Bond to masturbate his fifteen-year-old Padawan.</p><p>The nausea that hits him is enough to make him hunch over the sink and spit.</p><p>“What… what’ve I done?” he utters.</p><p>He has to be dreaming. This is all just a bad dream. He’s going to go back to his cabin, crawl into his bunk where his body is still sleeping, and when he wakes up in the morning, this dream and everything about it will be gone. Gone. And he will walk out and say hello to Hera and Sabine and Zeb and Ezra and Chopper, sit down with them for breakfast, and be absolutely, perfectly normal. Because none of this has happened. None of this was real. It was all just…</p><p>Kanan stares at his dripping, haggard reflection.</p><p>…his fantasy.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>In the galley the next morning, Ezra, who has been atypically quiet, suddenly blurts in the lull between conversations, “I like honey.” A shy smile comes to his lips as he stares into his bowl. “I think it’s really sweet.”</p><p>Zeb looks at him as if he’s said the dumbest, most obvious thing in the galaxy while Kanan proceeds to choke on his breakfast bar. Chopper offers him a half-pint of motor oil. Sabine scolds the droid for his bad joke and offers Kanan a mug of watered-down and slightly out-of-date bantha milk. He accepts without complaint.</p><p>“I think we might have a few packets of honey stashed somewhere,” Hera says helpfully. “You want some for your cereal?”</p><p>“Uh. Nah, no, thanks.” Ezra gives her a grin and waves his hand. “I’m already sweet enough. Save it for a special occasion.” His eyes flit over to Kanan briefly before settling on his bowl again. He stirs his porridge and resumes eating, slowly. Small bites. Chewing. Pausing between mouthfuls. Mindful, unhurried. As if he’s always eaten this way.</p><p>Kanan gets up and leaves before everybody at the table can hear his thudding, hammering heart.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Something I can believe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kanan has a much-needed talk with Ezra that doesn't end the way he planned.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Later that day they have to make a fuel run to Djian, a small planet with minimal Imperial presence. Sabine and Ezra volunteer to take the <em> Phantom </em>and go get what they need, but Kanan asks if Sabine wouldn’t mind sitting this one out. </p><p>“Ezra and I have some Jedi things to discuss,” he says, and while it feels like a lie in his mouth, his statement is wholly true. He and Ezra <em> do </em>have Jedi things to discuss; namely Force Bonds and how to control what gets sent through them.</p><p>As soon as they undock from the <em> Ghost</em>, Kanan inputs the coordinates, engages the autopilot, and leaves the cockpit to go sit in the back with Ezra. Ezra smiles and straightens up when Kanan folds down the seat across from him. </p><p>Kanan sits down and clasps his hands together, leans his elbows on his knees. He bows his head with a heavy sigh.</p><p>“I need to apologize for what happened last night. It was… extremely inappropriate of me, using the Force to connect with you like that.” </p><p>He leaves out the fact that it was Ezra’s unchecked libido that had caused all this. The boy hadn’t known and couldn’t help himself; better that Kanan shoulder the blame for this one.</p><p>“Certain things, <em> personal </em> things like bodily functions and… physical urges should be kept private. I had no right to involve you, Ezra. I’m sorry. It was completely unacceptable. I took advantage of you in a moment of weakness, and nothing I say now can undo it. I just… hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. And if you can’t, I understand.”</p><p>Ezra’s smile had faded after the first sentence. Now his face is blank, bewildered. After several moments he finally says in a soft, confused tone, “I don’t understand. I thought you liked it. You sounded like you did. You called me ‘honey’. You were proud of me, I could feel it. It felt good. What we <em>did</em> together felt good.”</p><p>Kanan drags both hands down his face and clasps them under his bearded chin. “I wasn’t thinking straight, Ezra. In fact, I wasn’t thinking at all. I was half asleep and… look, I’m sorry if I misled you or gave you the wrong idea. I’m not…” He gives up, shakes his head. “The bottom line is what I did was very wrong, and I promise it will never happen again.”</p><p>Ezra’s face changes with a flash, revealing pure desperation. “But what if I <em> want </em>it to happen again?”</p><p>Fuck. This is even worse than Kanan thought. He tries to remain calm.</p><p>“This isn’t just about what you want, Ezra. It’s also about what <em> I </em> want, what’s best for both of us. It’s about what we <em> should </em>be doing. The right thing, the good thing.”</p><p>Ezra’s mouth hangs open for a moment. Then his eyebrows draw together. <em>Hurt. Anger. Insult.</em> Kanan braces himself for the incoming fire.</p><p>“This is because I got molested as a kid, isn’t it? You feel bad about it and now you don’t want anything to do with me.”</p><p>“That’s not true. I—”</p><p>“Just admit it, you feel sorry for me! You think I’m scarred for life and that all I care about is finding some older guy who will pay attention to me. Well, I’m <em> not</em>, okay? I’m totally fine. I’m not throwing myself at every middle-aged man I come across, you know. I may have taken my clothes off for food once upon a time, but I’m not a whore.”</p><p>“I never said you were, Ezra.”</p><p>“But you thought it, right?”</p><p>“No. You’re putting words into my mou—into my head. I never thought you were damaged or ruined from what happened. In fact, I was amazed at how you’ve managed to carry on. You’re tough and smart and resilient. Something like what you went through, it would have broken a lot of people. But it didn’t break you because you’re strong.”</p><p>Ezra’s temper cools a little; his face relaxes into a softer expression. “Really?”</p><p>“Yes, really. You’ve spent half your life on the streets, doing whatever you had to do to survive. I understand that. I understand better than you might think, Ezra, and the fact that you can still smile and laugh and make jokes and be the biggest pain in my ass, that’s amazing. <em> You’re </em> amazing, Ezra.”</p><p>Ezra uncrosses his arms and places his hands in his lap, fiddling with his gloves. “So why won’t you? Why can’t we…?”</p><p>Kanan heaves a sigh. “Where do you want me to start? The fact that you’re my Padawan or that you’re half my age?”</p><p>“Great, here we go again with that ‘you’re still a kid’ bullshit—”</p><p>“You <em> are </em>still a kid, Ezra. You’re barely fifteen. You don’t even know what you—”</p><p>“Hey, this <em> kid </em> has seen people burned alive and shot and run over right in front of him, I mean nothing left but blood and broken bones. This <em> kid </em> has stolen and used blasters before. This <em> kid </em> has shot at people, he’s seen the inside of a brothel, and he knows how much a life costs in credits. I am not a <em> kid</em>, Kanan. I never was.”</p><p>Kanan straightens his back. He suddenly recalls another young boy who hated to be called “kid”. A very stubborn, impulsive boy who had to grow up fast after his Master was executed in front of him. A boy who also had to live on the streets and do whatever he could to survive, which mercifully wasn’t as bad as some of the things Ezra had done.</p><p>“I know.” Regret gleams in Kanan’s eyes. “I know, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Why? It’s not your fault.” Ezra puts his feet up on his seat and tucks his knees beneath his chin, folding himself into a tight, protective little ball.</p><p>Silence falls between them. The shuttle engine hums as it continues its programmed flight. Kanan can think of nothing more to say; he’s exhausted his argument.</p><p>“So now what?” Ezra finally mutters. He sniffs, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “You’re just gonna dump me and pretend this never happened?”</p><p>Kanan can’t believe he’s having this conversation. He massages his forehead where a massive headache is beginning to hatch. “I’m not dumping you, Ezra. I’m just—I’m fixing my mistake so we can go forward as we should, as Master and Padawan. Not…”</p><p>“As boyfriends,” Ezra finishes.</p><p>The word sounds so ridiculous and juvenile to Kanan that he almost laughs. He comes close to smiling but doesn’t quite manage it.</p><p>“Ezra. I know you had to grow up way before you were ready. Your mind, your spirit, they’re a lot more mature than most fifteen-year-olds’. But your body and your brain are still developing. There are a lot of feelings you haven’t experienced yet. All kinds of sensations and emotions. And knowledge. Do you even know what a prostate is? Where it is, what it does? Do you know how a baby is made? What menstruation is? How semen works?”</p><p>The startled look on Ezra’s face answers Kanan’s questions. He shakes his head tiredly.</p><p>“You’re not a child and yet you are, Ezra. And I can’t…”</p><p>“You can’t teach me these things yourself?”</p><p>“I can teach you just fine. I just can’t… perform them. Not with you.”</p><p>That seems to get through. Ezra pinches his lips together and nods. He blinks and two tears skid down his cheeks.</p><p>“So. It’s not the situation, it’s just me. You don’t want <em> me</em>, that’s what you’re trying to say.”</p><p>“No, Ezra, I”—fucking Force, why is this so difficult—“it’s just, it isn’t right. I’m twenty-eight. You’re fifteen. Biologically, I’m old enough to be your father.”</p><p>“Tch, yeah, sure. A fourteen-year-old father.” Ezra snorts and rolls his eyes.</p><p>“It can happen,” says Kanan soberly. “In humans, sometimes even earlier. Thirteen, twelve. Sometimes as young as eleven. Did you know that?”</p><p>Ezra stares, stunned. Then he tucks back into himself and shrugs with embarrassment. “I thought… thought you had to be like twenty or something, I dunno, nobody ever told me these things, okay? Not like I had much of an education on the streets.”</p><p>Kanan reaches out and places his hand on the toe of Ezra’s boot. “It’s okay. That’s an easy fix, nothing to be ashamed about. I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have.”</p><p>Ezra goes quiet.</p><p>Kanan hopes he got through. It feels like he has. Maybe they can still salvage their relationship, have something normal and wholesome and— </p><p>“I love you,” Ezra mumbles into his scuffed-up knee pads. “And I still wanna be with you. Nothing has changed between last night and now except you.” He lifts his head so he can glare at Kanan. More tears spill down his cheeks. “If you never really wanted me in the first place, then why did you… why’d you even…” His voice cracks and he begins to cry.</p><p>Kanan gets up and pulls down the seat next to Ezra. He tries to put his arms around the boy, but he recoils from his touch.</p><p>“Don’t!” he snarls. “Not if you’re just gonna tease me again! It isn’t fair!”</p><p>Kanan backs off, holds his hands up in surrender. He can feel the despair and anger radiating from Ezra like heat from a fire.</p><p>So this is why the Old Masters didn’t want the Jedi forming attachments. Because of things like this. Love. Not friendly love or companionate love, but love that burns like a white-hot flame. Love that is greedy and all-consuming, all-powerful. Love that makes smart people do stupid things, that turns brothers against each other and rips whole nations apart. Because when those attachments are severed, when the love is suddenly gone and all that remains is a void, the only thing that matters is finding something to fill it. And voids, by their very nature, are where darkness likes to dwell.</p><p>At that moment Kanan Jarrus makes a decision. There are worse things in the galaxy than becoming sexually involved with a teenager. Much worse. Like setting his Padawan on a path to the Dark Side. Like inadvertently creating another Inquisitor or Sith Lord for the Empire to add to their collection. In a couple years Ezra will reach the age of majority and none of this will matter. At the worst he will have moved on, found someone closer to his age, and Kanan can say he kept him safe during this odd, uncertain, experimental time in his life. And at best… maybe this is real love. Maybe when the raging fire finally dies to a smolder, what will be left behind in the ashes is a kind, tender warmth that will endure for the rest of their lives.</p><p>Kanan reaches out again, wraps his arms around Ezra, and pulls the boy to his chest. He kisses the top of Ezra’s head and strokes his hair.</p><p>“I’m not teasing you,” he says. “I love you, Ezra. And we can be together if that’s what you really want.”</p><p>Ezra looks up at him with wide, gleaming eyes. “Are you serious? You’re not just…”</p><p>“Search my heart, Ezra. Search my mind. Go on.”</p><p>Ezra does. And when he finds that there is no pretense, no lie, no shadow to be found, he throws his arms around Kanan’s neck and proceeds to dampen the collar of Kanan’s sweater with his tears.</p><p>“You really <em> do </em>love me.”</p><p>“Of course I love you. You’re a very lovable person. When you’re not driving me kriffing crazy, that is.”</p><p>Ezra laughs and sits back, wipes his runny nose. </p><p>Kanan pulls the cuff of his sleeve over his hand and mops the tears from Ezra’s cheeks, even cleans a bit of snot from his upper lip. He smiles at the boy and holds his face in both hands.</p><p>“This is gonna be difficult for a while,” he says seriously. “We’re gonna have to keep it a secret. Maybe in a few years, if we’re all still around and you and I are still… together, we can let the others know. But for now we should keep things simple. No public affection, no pet names, nothing that might give us away. For your safety more than mine. It’s bad enough the Empire knows I’m a Jedi and I’ve taken an Apprentice. They really don’t need to find out about this. Okay?”</p><p>Ezra nods. “I can keep a secret. I’m good at hiding things.”</p><p>Kanan stares into Ezra’s indigo eyes and his heart aches. Ezra gives him a crooked smile. It feels like the right thing to do, so Kanan leans forward and kisses him—chastely, lightly—on the mouth. Ezra’s lips are the smoothest things he has ever felt. His skin is warm, the fuzz on his upper lip still soft and unchanged by the hormones that will eventually coarsen it.</p><p>Ezra leans into the kiss but doesn’t seem to know what to do after that. Kanan doesn’t want to move too quickly—a little hypocritical, he realizes, considering what happened last night—so he gently breaks the kiss and pulls away with a soft smack of flesh. Ezra’s eyes are half-lidded, his lips pursed and slightly parted. He looks dazed and drunk. Kanan can practically hear his heart fluttering inside him.</p><p>He combs back Ezra’s hair and gives him a gentle smile. “Okay?”</p><p>Ezra blinks and manages to nod. “Y-yeah. Okay. Definitely okay.”</p><p>The autopilot beeps, alerting them that they are nearing their landing coordinates.</p><p>Kanan gets up and goes to the cockpit. As he drops into the pilot’s seat, Ezra calls to him from the back:</p><p>“Hey, Kanan?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“When are we gonna get to second base?”</p><p>Kriffing hell, kids still used that expression these days? Kanan feels ancient. He flips a few switches, engages the landing gear, and shakes his head.</p><p>“You still have a lot to learn first. It might be a while.”</p><p>“Okay. Cool. Just asking.”</p><p>For a second Kanan thinks he heard wrong. He turns around to make sure it’s still Ezra he’s talking to and finds him making his way to the front. Ezra leans against the bulkhead and gazes through the clouds of Djian with a smile on his face.</p><p>“You took that a lot better than I thought you would,” says Kanan suspiciously. “You’re like the antithesis of delayed gratification.”</p><p>“Aunty <em> who</em> of <em> what</em>?”</p><p>Right. Fifteen.</p><p>“The total opposite of patience.”</p><p>“Oh. Well, guess I’m finally learning, huh?” Ezra flashes a goofy grin.</p><p>Kanan looks over at him and feels it, that love like a warm, quenching wave rolling into his entire body, filling every space inside him with its goodness.</p><p>He can do this, he thinks. He can have it both ways. Better him than some stranger. Better someone who already loves him, who will protect and defend him to his dying breath. At least he isn’t one of those masked perverts. He’s not luring Ezra into his arms with the promise of food and money and security. No, Ezra came to him first. He wants to be with him. He trusts him. He loves him. And Kanan will do his best to make sure that Ezra is safe and happy and… that his needs are met. On his terms, of course. Consensually. Safely. Lovingly.</p><p>Kanan holds out his hand. Ezra practically snatches it up in his eagerness. Their fingers weave themselves together as best as their gloves will allow.</p><p>They don’t let go until after they have safely landed.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>It sounds fine in his head, hypothetically. But sitting down and actually teaching Ezra about human sexuality is a lot more complicated—and time consuming—than Kanan thought.</p><p>They start with the basics: a holochart of the human body and a straightforward anatomy lesson. After Ezra demonstrates his understanding of that, they move on to the differences between sex and gender, and all the various sexual orientations. Ezra is a little unsure which one he falls into, and Kanan tells him that’s fine, sometimes it takes people a while to find out who they really are. And sometimes even then it can change.</p><p>“Which are you?” Ezra asks. </p><p>Kanan has never really thought about it before; it takes him a minute to find his answer. “Bisexual, I suppose. I like males and females, and I’ve been with both—and one other gender besides.”</p><p>“How many?”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“How many people have you slept with?”</p><p>“A gentleman never tells.”</p><p>Ezra gives him a look.</p><p>“Five.”</p><p>“That’s it?”</p><p>“What do you mean ‘that’s it’? Five is a lot for a guy who’s been an outlaw half his life. There are more important things in the galaxy than getting laid, Ezra. Like survival. You of all people should know that.”</p><p>“Yeah. Guess you’ve got a point.” </p><p>Ezra stretches out on Kanan’s bunk and recrosses his legs, ankle to knee. He’s wearing a distractingly short pair of pajama pants that reveal his thighs and shapely, almost feminine calves. Kanan wonders how they will feel locked around his waist. </p><p>Something deep down in him flutters awake, and he puts it back to sleep with a sharp command.</p><p>
  <em> Stay focused, Jarrus. There’s no guarantee you’re even going to get that far. Maybe this little puppy-crush will run its course in a couple months and you can go back to being his friend and mentor without having to— </em>
</p><p>“How do men have sex with each other?”</p><p>Kanan almost cringes.</p><p>Force’s sake, he’s nearly thirty years old and yet his face is heating up like a youngling seeing his first pornographic holovid.</p><p>“We still have a lot of ground to cover before we get to sex and reproduction. Let’s finish this lesson first, okay?”</p><p>Ezra sighs and sits up to face his Master.</p><p>Kanan is perched on the edge of the old supply box in which he keeps spare weaponry and blaster parts. A small holoprojector sits on the floor in front of him, displaying an infographic of the male human body. He taps the controller and the image rotates to a transparent side-view of the genital area. Ezra narrows his eyes and leans forward to study it.</p><p>“Okay”—Kanan clears his throat—“as you can see here, this is the, uh, plumbing. Penis, testes, all the internal organs that we covered in our last lesson. Now for how they function. This channel right here is the urethra, as you already know. It carries both urine and semen, which is controlled by—”</p><p>“Who drew this?”</p><p><em>That’s </em> a question Kanan isn’t expecting. “Drew what?”</p><p>“This picture.” Ezra points to the holo-penis. “Why does it look like that?”</p><p>Kanan blinks, stares. “What do you mean? Why does it look like what?”</p><p>“Like <em> that</em>.” Ezra rolls his eyes in exasperation and leans forward until his finger is right on the end of organ. “There’s no head or anything. It looks like a hose. Whoever they hired to make this thing needs to take some art lessons.”</p><p>“That’s the foreskin, Ezra. All men have them.”</p><p>Ezra’s smirk drops and his eyes go wide. “Wh… the what?”</p><p>“You know, the skin on the—” Kanan starts to say, then shuts his mouth when he realizes.</p><p>Ezra must be circumcised. Most of the men on Lothal are. The planet was settled by followers of one of the religions that observes the cutting of the foreskin in human males. Races with different genitalia have their own procedure for following this ritual, and apparently those customs are still thriving in Lothal’s culture. If Ezra’s parents were followers of this faith, then he must have been circumcised when he was only a few days old. Growing up in a society where this kind of thing is commonplace, Ezra has known nothing else. And with no formal education to enlighten him, he has no idea that most men in the galaxy are uncut. Men like Kanan.</p><p>“This is an uncircumcised penis,” he says delicately. </p><p>“Un-circus-<em>what</em>?”</p><p>“Circumcision. The custom of removing the foreskin, this little flap of skin that covers the head of the penis.”</p><p>Ezra’s mouth falls open. “Wait, you mean… <em> all </em> men are born looking like this?”</p><p>“Yes. Do you resemble this image at all?”</p><p>Ezra’s face goes red. “No. No, I look… I’m a lot different.” </p><p>“Then you’re probably circumcised.”</p><p>Worry pinches Ezra’s features. “Am I okay? Is it gonna affect me when I… I mean, can I still function?”</p><p>“Yes, you’re fine, Ezra. Everything still works. You’ll be able to have sex and make babies and… do all that stuff. Look, I’ll download a holotext on the history of circumcision so you can—”</p><p>“Why can’t you just tell me?”</p><p>“Because it's easier if I just give you a text. I don’t exactly have a lot of experience in this subject, but if you have any questions when you’re finished reading, I’ll gladly—”</p><p>“Kanan.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Ezra sits on the bunk, anxiously gripping his knees and biting his lip. “I can’t read.”</p><p>His voice is so soft that Kanan doesn’t understand what he said at first. But at last it translates; he sits back, stunned.</p><p>“I mean, I <em> can</em>, a little,” Ezra mumbles. “My parents taught me at home since the schools were all Empire-run. But once they disappeared…” He shrugs feebly. “I taught myself to recognize some words, but the ones in texts, I, I can’t. I haven’t learned to write past Level Two and I can’t spell for kark.” He hangs his head in shame.</p><p>Kanan gets up from his box and sits beside Ezra. “Ezra, honey”—the word slips out, as natural as water—“why didn’t you tell me?”</p><p>“I didn’t want you to know I was… that you had a Padawan who couldn’t read and write. That I’m just a dumb little Loth-rat. I mean, isn’t it funny?” He smiles a cheerless smile. “I can wield a lightsaber, but I can’t even spell it.”</p><p>Kanan puts his arm around Ezra’s shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. We can fix this, too. It’ll be easy. A few rounds with a phonics program and you’ll catch up. You’re a smart ki—smart young man. It’ll come to you. Who knows, it might even end up being your specialty. Ezra Bridger: Scholar Jedi.” He grins, but his attempt to lift Ezra’s spirits fails.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Ezra mumbles.</p><p>“What for?”</p><p>“For you having to put so much work into me. Not just Jedi training, but all these other things. The biology stuff. Reading, writing. I’m sure you've got more important things you’d rather be doing.”</p><p>“Don’t you think you’re worth it, Ezra?”</p><p>“Honestly? No.”</p><p>“Well, I do. And that defeatist kind of attitude isn’t helpful at all.” He taps Ezra’s chest. “I can’t think of anything more important than what I’m doing right now. You’re worth teaching. You’re worth the time. You’re worth all of it, Ezra.”</p><p>“Hm.” Ezra curls one corner of his mouth up into a weak grin. “Maybe someday I’ll believe it.”</p><p>“Believe it now and save yourself the time. I know how impatient you are.”</p><p>That earns a chuckle from Ezra. A flower of gladness blooms in Kanan’s chest to hear it. </p><p>“Thanks, Kanan. I knew there was a reason I loved you.”</p><p>Kanan smiles fondly, puts his hand on the back of Ezra’s head, and pulls him forward to plant a kiss on his forehead. Ezra immediately throws his arms around Kanan’s waist and locks on, leaving him no chance to pull away.</p><p>“That was nice,” he says, “but you missed.” And he tilts his face up, closes his eyes, and purses his lips.</p><p>Kanan laughs despite his best efforts not to. The sight of Ezra Bridger puckering up for a kiss is just too comical. “Not very subtle, are you?”</p><p>“I don’t even know what that word means,” he mews through his pinched lips.</p><p>“I hope you’re joking, because if you aren’t, you just made me sad.”</p><p>Ezra opens one eye. “Are you going to kiss me this year or would that be too fast for an old man like you?”</p><p>Kanan shakes his head. “No respect. I get no respect at all around here—”</p><p>Ezra cuts off his halfhearted complaint by pushing himself up into Kanan’s mouth. The maneuver works; Kanan cups Ezra’s face in his hands and returns the kiss, daring to lick Ezra’s lips this time. Ezra’s tongue slips out to meet his, and slowly and patiently Kanan coaxes it into his mouth. </p><p>They kiss shallowly for what could be seconds or hours. It’s easy to lose track of time in a moment like this. At last Ezra pulls away, slightly breathless, his face flushed and his eyes dark with desire. His lips are plump and glistening, and the skin around his mouth is a little red from the scrape of Kanan’s stubble.</p><p>“How was that?” Kanan asks, and he’s unable to stop himself from swiping his thumb across Ezra’s bottom lip, cleaning off the saliva there.</p><p>Ezra nods dumbly. “That was good. Really good. I, uh”—he looks downward—“maybe a little too good.”</p><p>Kanan follows his gaze and sees the tent in Ezra’s shorts. </p><p>Oh, to have that kind of sex drive again. Kanan doesn’t know if it would be more of a curse or a blessing. Probably the former.</p><p>“That’s normal, right?” Ezra asks self-consciously. “Getting hard so fast? It has nothing to do with me being circumscribed, does it?”</p><p>Kanan suppresses a chuckle. “No, it’s got nothing to do with being circumcised. It’s completely normal for a man your age to get erect quickly. Nothing to worry about.”</p><p>Ezra looks up at Kanan and practically glows. </p><p><em>He called me a man. I’m a </em> man<em>. Normal for a </em> man <em> my age. Not a boy. He called me a man. </em></p><p>Kanan is overwhelmed by the emotions surging through their bond. <em>Pride. Love. Confidence. Gratefulness. Happiness</em> that borders on ecstasy. All of it astonishingly powerful, almost enough to make him reel. He puts his hands on Ezra’s shoulders to steady himself.</p><p>“You’re broadcasting,” he says. “Very loudly.”</p><p>The flow stops abruptly. “Whoops. Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just… got a little carried away, I guess.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Kanan says, though he already misses the wonderful Ezra-feelings that had been shining inside him a second ago. There’s something unique about Ezra’s emotions, their color, their texture. He could probably “feel” him out of a crowd of thousands, even from halfway across the galaxy.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe one day I’ll have to. </em>
</p><p>Kanan frowns. </p><p>Where the hell did <em> that </em>come from? That little sliver of darkness and foreboding amidst the radiance of this moment? Troubling.</p><p>Kanan slowly and reluctantly disengages himself from Ezra’s embrace. “Well, it’s getting late,” he says and shuts off the holoprojector. “We should probably go to bed.”</p><p>Ezra throws himself down on Kanan’s bunk and folds his hands beneath his head. His erection pokes up ridiculously in his shorts.</p><p>Kanan rolls his eyes. “I mean separately. In our separate beds.”</p><p>“Aw, but Kanan…”</p><p>“No. End of discussion. Neither of us will get any sleep with you in that state.”</p><p>Ezra leers and wags his eyebrows. “Yeah, but think of how good we’ll sleep afterwards.” He uses his huskiest voice and even has the audacity to nudge his hips upward.</p><p>The thought of Ezra lying beside him and grinding against him in the dark, panting and moaning, is almost enough to make Kanan reconsider. Almost. He gets up and opens the doors before he can change his mind.</p><p>“Nice try. Out.”</p><p>Ezra draws an arc in the air with his open hand. “You <em>do</em> want to let me sleep in your bed tonight.”</p><p>Kanan stands by the door, looking unimpressed. “Really? On me? Really, Ezra?”</p><p>“It was worth a shot.”</p><p>“It was a waste of ammunition. Now come on, out.”</p><p>Ezra lets out a sigh that sounds more like a growl. “Alright, fine, <em>fine</em>, I’m going.” He sits up and obediently makes his way to the door, hiding his aroused state with one hand. “You’re a mean Master.”</p><p>“I hear a cold shower will help the swelling go down. The colder the better.”</p><p>Ezra passes him, muttering, “Evil, wicked, cruel, heartless—”</p><p>Quick as lightning, Kanan’s hand flashes out and connects loudly with Ezra’s bottom. </p><p>Ezra screeches and jumps, then turns to stare at Kanan in shock.</p><p>Kanan crosses his arm and leans against the door frame. “How many times have I told you not to let your guard down? You’ve got to keep your wits about you. Always make sure your assets are covered before you turn your back on your opponent.”</p><p>Ezra narrows his eyes and bites back his smile. “I’ll get you for that,” he promises, rubbing his smarting butt cheek and making his way to his room next door.</p><p>“A good Jedi never seeks vengeance.”</p><p>“This isn’t vengeance. This is justice.”</p><p>“And <em> this </em>is the end of our conversation.” Kanan wiggles his fingers. “Sleep tight, Padawan.”</p><p>Throwing a bitter but playful smile to his Master, Ezra steps into his room and shuts the doors.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>That night Kanan’s dreams are dark and empty, as silent as space. He’s floating in a starless void, calling out, seeking, searching, but no sound comes from his mouth. How can he find what he’s looking for if he can’t be heard? How will anyone find him if he can’t make a sound?</p><p>Tears drip out of his eyes and float away in the darkness. Why is he crying? Where is this hurt coming from? Why does he feel as empty as this space in which he drifts?</p><p>He draws another breath and screams as loud as he can, as hard as he can, but all he hears is what surrounds him: nothing.</p><p>Absolutely nothing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Here on the edge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kanan turns every moment with Ezra into a learning experience.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ezra has his first vision.</p><p>Kanan is a little surprised that it happened this soon and after so little training. He warns Ezra about the dubious nature of Force visions and advises him to meditate on the meaning, but, as with anything that involves Ezra’s parents, caution is thrown to the wind and the Spectres end up barreling headlong into a trap set by the traitorous Senator Gall Trayvis. </p><p>Ezra learns the hard way that not all Force visions can be interpreted at face value. It’s a difficult but ultimately beneficial lesson, or at least that’s what Kanan hopes. Ezra already has trust issues stemming from a childhood of being hunted and betrayed and abused by the adults around him, and Trayvis’s exposure as an Imperial agent doesn’t exactly help. What the boy needs most is stability, security, safety—things that every child deserves, things Ezra has been looking for all his life. Things he finds only in Kanan now.</p><p>Kanan allows Ezra to sleep with him that night. The boy takes off everything but his underwear and nestles against Kanan’s chest as if he’s done this every night of his life. Kanan wraps his arm around him, rests his cheek in Ezra’s dark, fluffy hair, and just holds him. No flirtatious banter, no hard-ons or erotic thoughts. Only comfort. Kanan sends as much serenity and peace through their bond as he can, and eventually Ezra relaxes in his arms, his pulse slowing and his mind clearing. He receives what Kanan gives him, drinks it up like a greedy sprout stretching its roots down for water, and soon falls asleep.</p><p>Kanan knows it’s not healthy. He cannot—should not—be the only steadfast structure in Ezra’s life; it’s a recipe for codependence. The boy must eventually leave his protection and make his own way, fall down, get bloodied, and get back on his feet when no one is there to help him up. Fortunately Ezra is stubborn, not likely to remain down for long, and brave in a reckless sort of way. It gives Kanan hope. </p><p>Normalcy—or what passes for it for a mismatched family of insurgents—returns in the following days. When he’s not helping with supply runs or missions or engaged in Jedi training, Ezra has academic objectives to complete. An hour a day with a reading program is Kanan’s recommendation. Kanan checks in on him from time to time to make sure he’s still on task and not daydreaming. Ezra’s will is strong, but his focus strays even on his most diligent days. He typically sits and studies at the table in the galley, where the light is better, or curls up on the softer seats in the lounge area, a datapad propped in his lap and a stylus in his hand. This is how Kanan finds him one afternoon, listening to his lesson and completing the exercises that go along with it.</p><p>“How’s it coming?” he asks, leaning against the entryway.</p><p>Ezra looks up with surprise and slides the headphones down around his neck. “Oh, hey! It’s, um, everything’s good. Just doing some fill-in-the-blank type stuff.” He casually twirls his stylus from finger to finger like a percussionist with a drumstick.</p><p>Kanan watches his hand, mesmerized by the effortless display of grace and dexterity. “Sounds thrilling.”</p><p>“It’s not bad. A little tedious.”</p><p>“<em>Tedious</em>. Good word. I’m impressed.”</p><p>Ezra rolls his eyes and smirks.</p><p>“Need any help?”</p><p>“Nah, I think I’ve got this.” He tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, and Kanan is struck by what a handsome young man he truly is.</p><p>“Okay, well… if you have any questions, I’ll be around.”</p><p>“Okay. Thanks.”</p><p>Kanan turns to leave.</p><p>“Uh, actually”—Ezra glances around to make sure no one is nearby—“I do have <em> one </em>question.”</p><p>Kanan waits for it.</p><p>“What are you doing after dinner tonight?”</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>The <em> Ghost</em> is quiet, the Spectre crew settled in for the evening.</p><p>They’re lying in Kanan’s bunk, chest to chest, legs entwined, kissing slowly and deeply. Ezra has lost his shirt, and Kanan’s hair has come loose from its ponytail. Ezra grinds himself against Kanan’s thigh without conscious thought; the only thing in his head right now is the raw, primitive urge to satisfy his growing passion.</p><p>Kanan breaks their kiss and moves downward, nipping and nuzzling Ezra’s neck. Ezra cranes his head back and breathes heavily, clutching a handful of Kanan’s hair. Kanan continues his descent. His hands glide all over Ezra’s body, massaging his sides, caressing his arms, stroking his back. He slips one hand beneath the leg of Ezra’s shorts to grasp a buttock, squeezing the supple flesh until Ezra whimpers. His mouth finds one of Ezra’s small brown nipples. He kisses it, licks it, blows on it, watches it tighten into a hard, pebbly bud. Then he gently takes it between his teeth and begins to suck.</p><p>“<em>Kriff</em>,” Ezra gasps and snaps his hips forward. “Kanan…”</p><p>Kanan can practically feel the boy throbbing through the layers of cloth separating them. He’s hard too, but he hasn’t lost his mind yet. Someone here has to be responsible.</p><p>“Touch me,” Ezra begs in a ragged whisper. “Please, Kanan. I’ll do anything—”</p><p>“Shh. I’ve got you.” They’re just words, but Kanan recalls that not too long ago Ezra <em> did </em>do anything—to survive. But begging and bargaining is the last thing he wants to hear. Ezra has spent enough of his life doing that already.</p><p>He runs his hand up and down Ezra’s bare thigh, kneading muscles, rubbing his hip, and generally avoiding the erection threatening to pop through the fly of his shorts. Then, at last, he dips beneath the elastic waistband and cups him.</p><p>“Nh-<em>hah</em>.” Ezra shudders and looks down between them at his penis in Kanan’s hand.</p><p>Kanan looks, too. Ezra is clean and healthy and of a good size, more thick than long at this point. He may still have some growing to do. His circumcision scar is a faint line on his shaft about four centimeters from the tip, separating the paler, pinker glans from the brown skin farther down. His pubic hair is soft and straight and untrimmed, attractive in a strangely wild, untouched way. Kanan takes Ezra’s scrotum in hand and carefully rolls the testicles around in their sac.</p><p>A wordless moan leaves Ezra’s mouth. Together they watch a clear bead of liquid form at the tip of his cock.</p><p>“And what’s this called?” Kanan asks, smearing the slippery fluid with his thumb.</p><p>“Precum,” Ezra pants. “I mean p-pre-ejaculate oh God Kanan I’m gonna come I’m—”</p><p>“No, you’re not.” Kanan grasps Ezra’s erection and gently squeezes just in case it isn’t a false alarm. “You’re close, but you’re not there yet.”</p><p>Ezra grimaces. “But I feel like I’m gonna burst.”</p><p>“You will. Later. I want to do this right, make it good for you.”</p><p>With a crazed sort of urgency, Ezra takes Kanan’s face in his hands and pulls him into a clumsy kiss. Kanan returns it with added vigor, thrusting his tongue into Ezra’s mouth. He starts stroking, and Ezra quivers and leaks and rolls himself into Kanan’s hand.</p><p>Kanan wonders if he ought to get some lubricant. Ezra would probably like that. It’s got to be better than thrusting dry into a clammy fist. But that would mean extricating himself from Ezra’s arms, getting out of his bunk, and hunting down a bottle of lube while sporting an erection hard enough to dent durasteel. He doubts Ezra would be able to resist playing with himself while he’s gone, and he doesn’t want to go through all that trouble just for Ezra to come after one— </p><p>He suddenly feels bare, groping fingers in his nethers and realizes that Ezra has stealthily managed to 1) unbutton his trousers, 2) unzip his fly, and 3) find his way into his underwear without so much as a telltale tug of cloth.</p><p>“Hey!” Kanan jerks back.</p><p>Ezra snickers at his reaction, his eyes half-lidded and playful. Not an ounce of remorse in them. “Hi.”</p><p>Kanan laughs. “You little thief.”</p><p>“Lightest hands on Lothal.” Ezra’s smile wavers and he ventures deeper into Kanan’s underwear, feeling through the bristly hair. “Come on, I wanna see you.” He’s bright and eager, face flushed a rosy gold, and at this close proximity Kanan can see the lines and speckles in his irises. “I’ve never seen an uncircumcised man before.”</p><p>Part of Kanan thinks they may be moving too fast. This is further than they’ve ever gone before, and it’s only been three weeks since they first acknowledged their relationship. But another part of Kanan, a very primitive part, grunts and says <em>fuck it, show him, you’re already in this up to your eyebrows. You’ve got his dick in your hand, for Force’s sake. What more could you lose?</em></p><p>“I won’t look much different from you at this point,” Kanan says.</p><p>“Why’s that? Oh, wait, right, ‘the foreskin retracts during arousal’.” After a pause, Ezra grins impishly, revealing his crooked teeth. “I still wanna see it.”</p><p>Persistent little pup.</p><p>Kanan nods. “Alright. Go ahead.”</p><p>With his feather-light thief’s touch, Ezra pulls Kanan out of his pants. A hum of admiration follows. </p><p>“Wow, you’re big. Like… <em>really</em> big.” </p><p>“Flattery is cheap, Ezra.”</p><p>“Hey, I’m just stating the truth.” He wraps his hand around Kanan, taking rudimentary measurements, and begins to explore.</p><p>Every touch, though amateur and uncertain, is electrifying. Whatever Ezra lacks in experience he makes up for in dexterity. His hands move with the skill of a musician and the cleverness of a magician. Kanan sucks in a breath when Ezra’s fingertips graze the cord of his retracted foreskin. Ezra notices his reaction and lets go.</p><p>“Sorry. Did that hurt?”</p><p>“No. No, the opposite.”</p><p>“Oh. Good.” A delighted grin, then a curious frown. “What is this anyway? This little… stringy thing here. I don’t have one.” </p><p>He tickles it with his finger, and Kanan almost chokes on his own tongue.</p><p>“Tha—aa—at’s the frenulum. It’s a piece of webbing that keeps the foreskin attached to the head. You’ve got a frenulum in your mouth. A few, actually. Two holding your lips to your gums and another keeping your tongue attached to the bottom of your mouth.”</p><p>Ezra’s eyebrows spring up. “Really? Wow. That’s… kinda neat, actually.”</p><p>Kanan stares at him for a moment, his heart suddenly overflowing with love for his Padawan, for this sweet, funny, precocious, tender-hearted young man who loves him and needs him and wants to be with him. </p><p>He rolls over, sits up, and efficiently strips off the rest of his clothes. Ezra lies back and watches with wide eyes. When he’s completely naked, Kanan grasps the waist of Ezra’s shorts and tugs them down. Ezra’s cock leaps out and slaps against his lower belly.</p><p>“Whoa, Kanan, w-what’s, what are you doing?” For some reason the slight nervousness in Ezra’s voice ignites Kanan’s desire even further. But he has it under control.</p><p>“Getting rid of the barriers,” he answers. “Making the pathways clear.” He tosses the shorts aside and pauses a moment, stares down at Ezra. The boy is truly beautiful. Even in the dingy artificial light, his skin glows in shades of bronze and copper. Precious metals. And his eyes are precious gems, sapphires and amethysts and opals. He is a treasure, Kanan thinks, in every way possible.</p><p>
  <em>You’re getting dangerously close to idolizing him, Jarrus. He’s a person, not an object of worship.</em>
</p><p>He’s still beautiful.</p><p>
  <em>Yes, he is. Be gentle with him. He loves you.</em>
</p><p>I know.</p><p>Kanan lies down between Ezra’s warm thighs and starts kissing every part of him his lips can reach. His chest, his soft belly—more filled out than when he first joined the crew, no ribs to be seen now—working his way up to his collar, neck and shoulder. His hot cheek, his smooth forehead. Ezra giggles at the brush of Kanan’s beard. Kanan tilts his head and kisses his lips. Ezra grabs him by the ears and holds him in place, licking the affection from Kanan’s mouth. Then they part and Kanan takes a southerly course, leaving a trail of damp kisses down Ezra’s stomach, hip, and thigh. The hair on his legs is still fine and downy, and it shines blue in the light. He slips his arms beneath Ezra’s knees, forcing them to bend, and presses his face to Ezra’s crotch. He inhales deeply. </p><p>This is Ezra’s scent, contrastingly musky and sweet, a wholly personal fragrance created by the unique chemicals in his body fluids. Sweat and semen. Flesh and hair. He wants to savor it, wear it. Be able to recognize it anywhere.</p><p>A startled gasp escapes Ezra’s mouth. “Are… are you gonna suck my—”</p><p>“Yes.” And then Kanan opens his mouth and swallows him.</p><p>Ezra digs his fingers into the mattress, throws his head back, and loses himself in the slippery wet heat of Kanan’s mouth.</p><p>Kanan sucks slowly, his lips tight around him. He drags up and down, memorizing the shape and texture of him. He tenderly licks Ezra’s scar and glides his tongue along the underside of the head, flicks it over the top, then opens up his throat and takes him all the way down.</p><p>“Kay. Kanan, oh Go—”</p><p>He swells suddenly, and Kanan is just quick enough to pull off and clamp his fingers around him before he spills.</p><p>“Oh no, nooo, nononono.” Ezra squirms and whimpers. “Please, Kanan, let me go. Let me come. I need to come so bad—”</p><p>“You <em>want</em> to come, but you don’t <em>need</em> to come. Right now your desire is controlling you. You need to control your desire.”</p><p>“But… <em>why</em>?”</p><p>“Because it’s important.” Kanan maintains a firm grip. “Close your eyes, Padawan. Focus on what you’re feeling. Search for it. Look deep.”</p><p>With a flicker of desperation on his face, Ezra obeys. He draws in a long, steadying breath. </p><p>Kanan gives him a minute or two. “Have you found it yet?”</p><p>Silence. Then, in a somewhat surprised voice: “Yeah. I mean, yes, Master, I have.”</p><p>“Good.” Kanan loosens his grip a little. “Now put a shield around it. Capture it within the Force, using the Force. Use the technique we’ve been practicing.”</p><p>“Mind over material,” Ezra recites. “Force over flesh. Surmount with serenity.”</p><p>“That’s right. Isolate your desire. Cover it, contain it.”</p><p>He releases Ezra.</p><p>Ezra sighs. A single drop oozes from his slit, but he doesn’t come. He’s hard as a rock, swollen to his fullest size, skin almost purple.</p><p>“Very good,” Kanan strokes the boy’s slim thigh. “You’re doing great, Ezra. Sexual desire is one of the most powerful and difficult things to master, but it <em>can</em> be mastered. Once you control that, you can control almost anything.”</p><p>“When can I release it?”</p><p>“Whenever you want.” He stretches his hand out to touch Ezra’s belly. Testing him.</p><p>Ezra’s muscles spasm in a ticklish, rabbity reflex, but he takes a slow breath through his nostrils and recenters himself.</p><p>“Good,” says Kanan. “With enough practice, you can stay in this state interminably.”</p><p>“Int—intermumbly?”</p><p>“Interminably,” he repeats slowly. “A very long time. Endlessly.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“You can let your desire continue to build and then release it, have an incredible orgasm. Or you can let it off a bit at a time and have multiple smaller orgasms. That’s always fun, but it takes some practice. Or, and this is probably the most important option, you can dissolve it. Put it out like throwing dirt over fire. Sometimes you may have to do that. The Sith seek out weakness like wolves, and they <em>will</em> use it against you.”</p><p>He rubs Ezra’s belly. The skin is soft and warm.</p><p>“Now that you have it under your control, you can do whatever you want with it. The choice is yours. But the hardest part is recognizing the desire and gaining control of it before it gains control of you.”</p><p>Ezra nibbles his bottom lip. “Why is it so hard to master?”</p><p>“Because most of it happens on the subconscious level. We can’t choose what arouses or excites us, what images we find appealing. All we can do is train ourselves, learn to recognize that passion and take control of it. Just like we do with our anger, our fear, all those other emotions that interfere with our inner peace. Do you understand?”</p><p>“I understand.” Ezra looks down the length of his naked body and meets Kanan’s eyes. “Master.”</p><p>Kanan half-smiles. “Let’s see if you do.” He lowers his head again.</p><p>Ezra lets out a breathy moan and his eyes flutter shut.</p><p>He doesn’t hold out as long as Kanan hopes he would, but this is only his first time. He can tell Ezra is losing the battle when his breathing picks up and he starts to tremble. Usually Kanan will pull off and use his hand to bring his partner to completion, but he wants Ezra to have the full experience. And the thought of having a small part of Ezra inside him is titillating.</p><p>He opens his throat and takes him all the way down, pressing his nose into the soft patch of hair. He swallows, which tightens the muscles in his throat, and that finishes it. Ezra bites his fist to stifle his shout. He jerks, shudders, and heaves his hips off the mattress as he pours himself down Kanan’s throat.</p><p>Kanan swallows and the motion elicits a second orgasm—a fast learner indeed. Ezra groans behind his fist like he’s been shot and is somehow furious about it. His other hand finds Kanan’s head and holds him by the hair while he grinds into his face. Kanan digs his fingers into Ezra’s hips so hard that the boy lets out a squeak of pain. He backs off and rubs in apology.</p><p>After one final shiver, Ezra goes limp and sinks down onto the bunk. Kanan lifts his head and releases Ezra’s penis, plump and shiny with saliva, with a wet squelch. A thread of semen stretches between his mouth and Ezra’s cock before finally breaking. Kanan licks the residue from his lips.</p><p>Ezra has barely caught his breath when Kanan crawls up to kiss him. Musk is heavy on his breath, but Ezra doesn’t recoil. He returns this kiss and smiles when they part.</p><p>“Wow. I taste awful.”</p><p>Kanan laughs. “Eat more fruit.”</p><p>“Seriously?”</p><p>“It helps.”</p><p>“Huh. Interesting.” Ezra touches Kanan’s chest, petting the dense expanse of hair, no doubt comparing it to his own small adolescent thatch. He lifts his gaze. “Can I return the favor?”</p><p>“Think you’re up to it?”</p><p>“Won’t know until I try.”</p><p>“Do or do not, there is no tr—”</p><p>Ezra grabs the pillow and mashes it into Kanan’s face. Kanan wrestles it away and batters him with it. Ezra blocks the blows with his hands, hissing with laughter. Kanan locks his leg around Ezra’s and rolls over, putting him on top—an easy feat when your opponent is so small and light. They continue their duel with muffled laughter, smacking and slapping and beating each other with the pillow, before Ezra finally loses his patience and hurls it to the other side of the cabin. Kanan is still chuckling when Ezra descends on his mouth, kissing him deeply. He suppresses the urge to buck when Ezra wraps his hand around him and starts stroking.</p><p>“Don’t hold out on me,” Ezra warns as he breaks away and scoots downward. </p><p>“Don’t bite down on me.”</p><p>“I’ll try. <em>And don’t you say it</em>.”</p><p>Kanan shakes his head, feigns complete innocence. Ezra lies against his hip and leans over at an angle, grasping Kanan’s erection and giving the tip a careful lick. Kanan inhales through his nostrils and props his head up with his arm so he can watch.</p><p>He looks truly huge in Ezra’s hand. Even his mouth seems tiny by comparison, but Ezra opens wide and wraps his lips around the entire glans with ease. There’s no way he’s going to be able to take him all the way down, not without a lot of practice first, but right now this is fine. </p><p>Kanan reaches down and touches Ezra’s head, traces the soft shell of his ear through his hair. Ezra looks up at him, his cheeks hollowed and eyes dark and lips shining wetly, and for one second Kanan loses his control. Lust flares up inside him, hot and incandescent, enraged at being restrained, and his fist involuntarily tightens in Ezra’s hair.</p><p>Ezra winces and makes a pained sound.</p><p>Kanan hurls his desire back into its cell and slams the door. “Sorry,” he pants and strokes the sore spot on Ezra’s scalp. “I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to do that.”</p><p>“Ihh ohay.” Ezra pulls off and smirks. “To tell you the truth, I kinda liked it.”</p><p>“You really worry me sometimes, Ezra.”</p><p>“Hey, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.” He cups Kanan’s balls in his cool hand and ducks his head to lick.</p><p>Kanan’s eyes roll back so far he can almost see the past. He bites his lips to keep the stream of profanities from exploding out of his mouth. Ezra has probably heard it all, probably knows worse, but still, a Master must maintain a certain amount of decorum when in the presence of his Padawan. </p><p>…his Padawan, who currently has the first quarter of his Master’s dick down his throat and is trying to swallow more. He keeps gagging, and though he’s good about hiding the fact that he’s gagging, masking it with the occasional hum or moan, Kanan feels the contractions of his throat and the way Ezra’s abdomen muscles lurch against his thigh. He sees the red flush on his face and his watering eyes, those beautiful indigo eyes, and fuck kriffing<em> fucking Force</em> he wants it now, now is fine, fuck it, he throws open the door and releases his passion all at once.</p><p>Ezra coughs and gags when the first wave spills into his mouth. He pulls off, still holding on, and shuts his eyes. A glob of semen splats on his cheek, another on his chin, another in his hair. By the time Kanan is spent, Ezra’s face is dripping.</p><p>He sits up and almost hits his head on the upper berth. “<em>Fuck</em>, Kanan, how long were you holding that? I’m a kriffing mess.”</p><p>Breathing heavily, Kanan raises his hand. “Okay, one: <em> language</em>. Two: I’m older. Three: I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you… I guess that could fall under two, too. Okay, new three—”</p><p>Ezra smiles and shakes his head.</p><p>“—that wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. Four: come here.”</p><p>Kanan grasps Ezra’s arm and drags his Padawan down and begins to wipe his face clean using Ezra’s discarded tank top and his own spit. Ezra groans and laughs and tries to push him away.</p><p>“Ugh, stop! That’s so gross. Now I’m gonna smell like spit <em> and </em>jizz.”</p><p>“Five: this is called aftercare and you never skip it.”</p><p>“Never?”</p><p>“Never ever.”</p><p>“Never <em> ever</em> never?”</p><p>Kanan blots the last sticky smear from Ezra’s eyebrow and stares down at him fondly, at his shadowed face and brightly gleaming eyes. </p><p>Ezra reaches up and combs a lock of Kanan’s hair out of the way, lays his hand against his cheek. “I love you so much,” he whispers.</p><p>Something rushes out of Kanan then. A breath, yes, but another thing. It comes from his gut, from his loins, from his heart. It feels like life. It glows like energy, yet he feels more energized with it leaving him than when it was inside him. What kind of matter, what kind of Force, could possibly grow the more it is given away?</p><p>The answer is almost immediate. Kanan knows. But it’s the sudden widening of Ezra’s eyes that catches him off guard.</p><p>“Oh… wow, Kanan. You…” Ezra blinks and tries to catch his breath because tears are suddenly streaming from his eyes. “Wh-what just happened? Why am I crying? I’m not sad, I. I feel… <em>you</em>.” He places his hand on his chest, right at the pulse point at the base of his throat. “Right here. You’re <em> right here</em>, Kanan, inside me. You’re moving down. Flowing…”</p><p>Kanan acts quickly. He grasps both of Ezra’s hands and entwines their fingers, presses his palms firmly against Ezra’s.</p><p>He doesn’t know how he did it, but somehow a glimmer of his own Force—his life, the very essence of his spirit—has made its way into Ezra and is binding itself to him. Kanan will never get that piece back, nor will it ever leave Ezra. It’s a permanent part of him now, and it needs to flow, to meld with Ezra’s own energy.</p><p>“It’s okay,” he says in a hushed tone. “Don’t be afraid. We made a syndis loop. It’s a temporary thing. Just… be still. Don’t try to control it. Let it run its course.”</p><p>Ezra is too overwhelmed to even ask what a syndis loop is. He grips Kanan’s hands and surrenders to it. The Force—his own, blended with a small part of Kanan’s—flows through him like liquid energy. It lights up everything it touches, his mind, his heart, his emotions, things that don’t have a name and never will on this side of mortality. It travels up his throat and enters his head, swims a few laps, lights up his synapses and floods his brain with feel-good chemicals. Tears of pure emotion pour from his eyes and roll down the sides of his face. Then it moves, traveling down his spine before circling back up through his belly. It arrives in his chest again and spins eddies in the base of his throat  before it finds its outlet: through the left hand.</p><p>Kanan sucks in a breath as he feels Ezra, Ezra and a bit of himself, enter into his right arm and begin its circuit.</p><p>He prays nothing will happen in the next few minutes. Cutting off a syndis loop mid-cycle could be disastrous. He doesn’t know precisely how—no one does, no Jedi in the past 500 years has made a syndis loop, certainly not by accident—but he can imagine. Years of training instantly undone. Bonds shattered. Padawan scarred in both mind and spirit. Master rendered impotent, unable to repair the damage. No, even if the alarms were to go off and the entire crew were to burst into his cabin, Kanan would continue to lie here in his bunk, naked, over his equally naked apprentice, and allow the loop to complete itself.</p><p>He just hopes he trained Ezra well enough to handle this. It’s a miracle <em> he’s </em> even able to handle it, half-finished Padawan that he is. But there is one thing he’s sure of.</p><p>He closes his eyes, which sends a rill of tears rolling down his face. <em>Plip plip</em>. They spatter onto Ezra’s cheeks. </p><p>“I love you too, Ezra,” he sniffs. “I’ve got you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Only one step away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kanan decides he and Ezra should abstain from sexual activities for a while.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ezra stares down at the sketch between them. Kanan is no artist, but the illustration is easy enough to understand: two stick figures standing in front of one another, hands (blobs) joined, their bodies surrounded by lines showing the direction of the syndis loop’s flow. Another sketch to the side illustrates the same directional flow inside a head and torso. </p><p>He looks up at Kanan. “Okay, I get that it’s an exchange of Force energy and everything, but <em>why</em>? What’s the point of it? Who discovered it?”</p><p>Kanan takes a weary breath and leans on the table. They should both be asleep, but he owes it to Ezra to at least explain what happened between them.</p><p>“It’s supposed to help two Jedi form a closer, more permanent connection to one another. They become more effective, reinforcing each other through shared skills and wisdom and virtue. If one has a weakness or deficiency, the other’s Force will help strengthen that weakness.”</p><p>Ezra quietly absorbs this information. “Those all sound like good things. How come nobody does it anymore?”</p><p>“Well, there aren’t any Jedi left to teach it, for one thing.”</p><p>“Oh. Right.”</p><p>“For another, I don’t really know. Maybe the Jedi stopped practicing it because of the attachment factor. Maybe it was too dangerous or redundant, who knows? I doubt there’s anyone alive who can tell us now. Few Jedi knew about syndis even when the Order was still around. I only found out about it when I was doing research on another subject as part of an assignment. There wasn’t a lot of information in the Temple Archives. I asked my Master and she said she had heard of syndis loops, but she knew no more than what was in the text. I never heard any of the other Masters mention it at all, and I didn’t ask. I wish I had.”</p><p>“And this was when you were a Padawan?”</p><p>“Yes. Just a little younger than you are now.”</p><p>Ezra holds his bottom lip between his teeth and reaches out to touch the drawing, as if touching it might help him understand.</p><p>It had taken half an hour for the syndis loop to complete its cycle. Their individual Force energies had flowed through each other in an unbroken circuit before finally slowing and settling, returning to their owners. The small fragment of Kanan’s energy that he had unwittingly passed to Ezra had been successfully melded. It was one with Ezra’s own Force now, made permanent and whole. </p><p>This is the nature of symbiotic energy distribution, also known as syndis—a grafting of one energy to another. Only a strong bond between two Force-sensitive individuals, ones whose hearts and minds are of mutual accord, will allow for the creation of a syndis loop. It’s initially sparked by physical connection. This must have happened when Ezra touched Kanan’s cheek and told him he loved him. The hands, as all Jedi know, are powerful conductors of the Force.</p><p>Kanan still doesn’t know how he did it or if he could repeat it, nor does he want to try. Ezra could have gotten hurt. His body could have rejected the Force fragment and caused him to spend the next several days in agony or an equally terrible state. The text never described what would happen in the case of rejection, only that “the consequences might be severe, requiring many days of mental and emotional healing”. Kanan hadn’t wanted to risk it, not for someone as young and new to the Force as Ezra, so he chose to complete the loop. If there were consequences, he would deal with them later. His first priority was keeping Ezra alive and healthy.</p><p>“The Force bond is also magnified, I think,” he adds after a long pause. “The bonded Jedi can communicate faster and more clearly. They don’t have to waste time seeking out one another’s signature in the entire Force. They can just focus on the signature already inside them.”</p><p>Ezra’s face lights up. “Like a private transceiver.”</p><p>Kanan is impressed by Ezra’s vocabulary for a moment, but then he remembers whose son he is. Ephraim and Mira Bridger were (and are, with any luck) two of the most accomplished pirate broadcast operators in the Outer Rim. Ezra probably grew up in a nest of aerials and coaxial cables and knew Dahdit code and proper voice procedure before he had learned his letters. <em>I am not a kid, Kanan. I never was.</em></p><p>He nods. “Yeah, exactly.”</p><p>Ezra shifts in his seat and pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “So… what does this mean for us?”</p><p>“I have no idea, to be honest. Everything I know about syndis came from two paragraphs in an old text that was probably destroyed years ago. We’ll just have to wait and see how it affects us. If it affects us.”</p><p>Ezra nods again. After a moment he says, “You gave some of your Force to me. Can I do the same to you?”</p><p>“Hypothetically, yes, but this isn’t a game, Ezra.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“This is a very serious matter with real and lasting consequences.”</p><p>Ezra’s face shifts into its Lectured Teenager scowl. “I <em> know</em>.”</p><p>“We have no idea what we’re dealing with. I could get hurt, you could get hurt, there’s no telling what could happen.”</p><p>“I <em> know</em>. I was just asking if it was possible. I wasn’t gonna try to make a syndis loop right this second. Do you really think I’m so stupid, Kanan?”</p><p>“I don’t think you’re stupid at all. But you’re young and impulsive and very passionate, especially when you get an idea in your head. It makes you reckless. I care about you, Ezra. That means I also worry about you.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, maybe if you <em> trusted </em> me a little bit more, or trusted the Force, you wouldn’t <em> have </em>to worry.”</p><p>Kanan lowers his eyes. “I know. Maybe that’s something the syndis loop will correct.”</p><p>The tension melts from Ezra’s body, defense mode deactivating. After an awkward silence, he reaches across the table and grasps Kanan’s hand.</p><p>“Sorry. I just… I’m a little scared and confused, is all.”</p><p>A surprisingly mature reaction. Kanan smiles and cups Ezra’s hand. “It’s okay. I know the feeling.”</p><p>Ezra returns his smile.</p><p>“I think maybe we should slow down a little,” Kanan says. “What happened tonight—I mean, what we were doing before the loop happened—it was nice, but it might have been too much too soon. I think we should back off for a while.”</p><p>Something hot flashes in Ezra’s eyes. “Wow, this really scared you, didn’t it.” </p><p>It isn’t a question. It’s an accusation. Kanan ignores it.</p><p>“Uncontrolled passion is what’s scaring me. We both have… very strong feelings for one another, and I think it might be best if we set some boundaries. Limitations. Temporary ones, at least.”</p><p>“What, like only one kiss a day? No hugs after 1800 hours? Sure, why not. Rationing our feelings sounds like a great idea, Kanan. How about a total ban on dick sucking until I’m twenty? I’m sure that’ll make you feel—”</p><p>“Watch your mouth, Ezra.” </p><p>Kanan’s voice is low and deadly sharp. It sobers Ezra up immediately. He snatches his hand out from under Kanan’s and crosses his arms.</p><p>“I think this is something that has to be done,” says Kanan in a gentler tone. “For the good of both of us.”</p><p>“Yeah? Too bad you didn’t think of that before tonight.” Ezra stands up and storms down the passageway, his socked feet thudding on the metal deck.</p><p>Kanan can feel the fury, the violent temper he’s been suppressing for years, trying to surface. It would feel so good to let it out, to let it explode in shades of black and red. He could throw out his hand and yank Ezra back, plant him in his seat again and hold him still, make him pay attention. No running to his cabin for sanctuary, no smart-mouthed comments, no more disrespect. It would be so satisfying, so affirming— </p><p><em>To see the terror in his eyes? To assert your dominance over him? To hurt</em> <em>him, your Ezra?</em></p><p>Kanan grunts and unclenches his fists. Relaxes. Releases.</p><p>He hasn’t battled with this part of himself in over ten years, nor has it ever tempted him this strongly. Maybe the syndis loop woke it up. Or maybe his conscience is finally catching up to him. Fourteen years of guilt with accrued interest coming home to roost. He doesn’t know. All that matters is cramming it back into its box, shutting the lid and piling more chains on it. </p><p>It takes a few moments of breathing and silent mantras before he finally sits up and opens his eyes. He rises to his feet and follows the wake of pain and sorrow that Ezra has left behind him. It swirls around Kanan like fog as he passes through it.</p><p>Ezra is in the head, the door shut. Kanan hears the flush of the commode and the running of water, then Ezra whimpering and sucking long, snotty breaths through his nose. His grief and anger is simultaneously freezing and scalding.</p><p>Kanan leans against the bulkhead and puts his hand over his aching heart. It’s been so long since he felt anything this intensely. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be fifteen.</p><p>
  <em> Ezra. Honey. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Go away. I don’t wanna talk to you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And I don’t want to end the night like this. Please come out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Why? So you can break something else? Haven’t you done enough damage? </em>
</p><p>The urge to take the bait is almost irresistible. Kanan bites his lip and calms himself, tries to remember that teenagers are the most manipulative creatures in the galaxy and patience is the only way to handle them.</p><p>
  <em> Ezra. You’re my Padawan. I love you and I want to make this right—right now. I don’t want to spend a single minute at odds with you. It hurts me. You feel it, too. I know you do. Something feels off, doesn’t it? You’re sick and angry and sad. Everything’s unbalanced. Talk to me, Ezra. Let’s set this right. Please. </em>
</p><p>For a few seconds there is nothing. Then a quiet sob from behind the door.</p><p>
  <em> I need you so much, Kanan. I hate how much I need you. I never needed anyone before, ever. I was just fine on my own. And then here you come barging into my life, the last kriffing Jedi in the galaxy, and you and Hera give me a home and a family and make me care about things I never cared about before. Ten months ago the only thing that mattered to me was finding my next meal. And now my life is… I don’t even recognize it anymore! </em>
</p><p>Kanan rests his head against the door. </p><p>Growing pains. They’re growing pains. Not the physical kind, but emotional ones. Ezra is having an identity crisis. In less than a year he’s gone from an orphan on the streets, a nobody, to an active rebel and Jedi apprentice with his own lightsaber and responsibilities. He’s part of a team now. He has friends. He’s being taught to read and falling in love for the first time, learning about sex and life and the Force, and now he’s bonded to Kanan through a complete accident, and his mind can’t process it all.</p><p>Kanan can’t blame him.</p><p><em> I know, Ezra. I know what it’s like to lose everything, your life, your purpose, your identity, all the people you care about. Sometimes it frightens me how alike we are. Your life is following the same pattern as mine. When I look at you it’s like looking in a mirror sometimes. I have been where you are. Same age, same crisis, only I didn’t have anyone who could help me through it. I had to bear it all on my own, and I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you to go through this alone. I know you’re strong enough to handle it all by yourself, but that doesn’t mean you have to. I’m here. I’m </em> here <em> for you, Ezra, and I’ll be here no matter what. I love you. All I want, all I need…  </em></p><p>Is to save you. The way I wish somebody had saved me and my Master.</p><p>Kanan lets out a breath and wipes his face. His sleeve comes away wet.</p><p>A few seconds later the door slides open. Ezra stands there with his face twisted in anguish, tears in his eyes. Kanan looks at him and the crack in his heart widens a little more.</p><p>“Ezra.”</p><p>“You <em> did </em>save me. And I didn’t… I never thanked you for it. I was afraid if I did it would—the spell would break and it’d all get taken away from me again. And I can’t lose you, Kanan. I can’t.”</p><p>The boy falls into his arms and presses his face against his chest. Kanan hugs him and cradles his head. </p><p>“M’sorry,” Ezra mumbles.</p><p>“So am I.” Kanan blinks back his tears. “I feel like I’m failing you every single day. I must be the worst Master in the history of the Jedi.”</p><p>“If you’re the worst Master, then I’m the worst Padawan.”</p><p>No, Kanan is pretty sure he still holds that title himself.</p><p>He steps back and combs Ezra’s hair away from his face. Even distressed as he is, red-eyed and puffy with his nose dripping, he’s still the most beautiful star in Kanan’s sky.</p><p>“Come on,” he says, gently taking Ezra’s hand. “It’s been a long night. We need to get some sleep or we’re both going to be useless tomorrow.”</p><p>“I don’t think I can sleep.”</p><p>“Then meditate.” He squeezes Ezra’s hand. “I’ll be right there with you.”</p><p>Ezra nods and heaves a sigh that sounds older than he is.</p><p>Kanan leads him back to his cabin. They climb into the bunk where just an hour earlier they had been exploring each other’s bodies and the smell of sex still permeates the air. They crawl beneath the blanket and lie on their sides tucked against one another, Kanan’s arm slung over Ezra’s waist.</p><p>Ezra picks up Kanan’s hand and places it on his chest. Kanan can feel his heart thumping through the thin skin at the base of his throat. Everything seems clearer now, sharper. He’s aware of more than just the temperature of Ezra’s emotions; he can see their colors, their intensity, their shade. A nova of shifting hues that make up Ezra’s personality. It’s beautiful even in spite of the regret and uncertainty dominating it.</p><p>He kisses Ezra’s ear.</p><p>“Find your center,” he whispers. “Find your serenity.”</p><p>Ezra lays his hand on Kanan’s and entwines their fingers. </p><p>A long while later, they finally sleep.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>Ezra enters a period of renaissance. He’s not just thriving, but flourishing. His reading comprehension is improving at an exponential rate; he’s already reached age-appropriate curriculum and is continuing to advance. Furthermore, he has begun to collect pre-owned texts like youth novels and comic books whenever he can get his hands on them. They join the rest of the crew’s personal effects strewn throughout the ship: Sabine’s paint swatches and gear; Zeb’s weight training equipment and music discs; Kanan is a minimalist but he has a seemingly infinite number of hair ties that end up in the strangest places; Hera’s welding projects and notepads. The flotsam of lives being lived, same as any other family in the galaxy.</p><p>Ezra’s progress is not just limited to academics. Ever since the syndis incident he has been more engaged in learning the ways of the Force, taking a vested interest in meditation and mind training. He’s calmer now, more patient and serious. He still has his moments of teenage frustration, but they’re becoming less frequent. Kanan is proud of him. Sometimes he wonders if he should have attempted to form a syndis loop with Ezra earlier. They haven’t been getting along this well with one another since that first big breakthrough in Ezra’s training. But the thought is almost always followed by a heavy negation.</p><p>Syndis is something reserved for older, accomplished Jedi. The text was clear about that. It never said why, only that it was recommended for advanced Knights, preferably ones who had already been serving as Masters for a number of years. Perhaps the dangers of a broken loop truly are something to be taken seriously. It makes Kanan feel better about his decision to go ahead with the formation. So far he hasn’t noticed any drawbacks. Everything has been fine lately—better than fine. Maybe they got lucky this time, managed to dodge any negative consequences. Or maybe syndis loops aren’t the awesome, terrifying things they’re made out to be. It’s too early to tell.</p><p>This pseudo-celibacy they’ve adopted is also going better than Kanan expected. What little physical affection he and Ezra share is brief but satisfying. Their goodnight kisses are warm, savored in a way they never appreciated before. Every touch is more precious, each meeting of the eyes more meaningful. The desire still burns beneath the surface, hot as the heart of a star, but it’s tempered by boundaries. Kanan begins to feel like a decent man again. He fasts, meditates alone when he can, and spends every evening contemplating the inner workings of the holocron, hoping to find a thread of wisdom somewhere inside it. It’s probably useless. He’s been mining knowledge from it for the past fourteen years, and surely the well is going to run dry sometime. But at least it occupies the hours he used to spend groping and grinding with Ezra in his bunk. </p><p>He hopes Ezra is coping. <em>Truly</em> coping, not just reciting a few clever lines and pretending it’s not affecting him. He's very good at hiding things and keeping secrets. Kanan knows Ezra isn’t accustomed to self-discipline or abstinence of any kind. His life on the streets was one of feast or famine; when something was available, be it a food source or some other commodity, it was immediately consumed in its entirety because who knew if or when it would ever be available again. Kanan is familiar with this behavior. He had to do the same thing after his Master was killed. Being touch-starved for years doesn’t help Ezra, either. To go from having everything he wants to having only what he can get must be frustrating.</p><p>He asks Ezra about it one evening in the nose turret. Kanan is sitting in the gunner’s seat and holding Ezra on his lap, legs propped up on the control console, comfortable and relaxed. They’re staring out at the green-blue glow of a distant star system and letting their thoughts drift in and out of one another’s heads. It’s intimate without being sexual. Kanan likes it. And from what he can feel, Ezra likes it, too.</p><p>“I just want to know that you’re happy,” he murmurs. “If you’re happy.”</p><p>“I am.” Ezra continues to play with Kanan’s hand like a bored, sleepy child. He traces the lines on Kanan’s palm and the veins and tendons on the back of his hand. He bends and straightens each finger, rubs the edge of each neatly groomed fingernail. “I’ve been practicing my control lately. Delays, multiples. The things we talked about that night. I’ve had some pretty good ones in the last week.”</p><p>Orgasms. That’s what he’s talking about. Kanan suddenly wishes he hadn’t said anything. Images flash through his mind of Ezra lying in his bunk with his cock in his hand, biting his lip and sweating and squeezing, trying to keep from coming. Kanan clears his mind of the provocative thoughts and slides his arm around Ezra’s hips. </p><p>He <em> will </em> be content with this. He <em> does </em> enjoy this. He doesn’t <em> have </em>to have more. This is fine. This is wonderful. And this is as much as he’s going to get tonight. Period.</p><p>“That’s good. I’m glad you’re learning how to control your desires. Makes me proud.”</p><p>Ezra lays his palm on top of Kanan’s and lines their fingers up. Kanan’s hand is longer by a few centimeters. Width-wise they’re about the same. </p><p>Kanan closes his eyes and lets the love flow out of him. Ezra takes a slow breath inward when it reaches him. His chest expands, then he gives a heavy sigh and deflates, relaxing again. Kanan sees color bloom behind his closed eyelids like ink in water, shades of pink and violet. Approval. Trust. Affection. All is well with Ezra.</p><p>Kanan tightens his arm around the boy’s waist and rests his chin on his shoulder. </p><p>On the deck above they can hear the familiar sound of Zeb’s favorite rock band competing with the latest news on the holonet. They all had a nice dinner tonight, fresh food from a recent trip to a market on Padura instead of the usual freeze-dried rations. A few merchants had even thrown in some extra supplies at no additional cost. Their way of thanking Spectre Crew for sticking it to the Empire earlier that day. They even had dessert: jogan pudding with cream. Everyone was smiling and laughing at the table, full of cheer and jokes and good food.</p><p>Kanan wishes it could last forever. Especially this, right here and now, holding Ezra close after a nice evening spent with friends. No immediate danger, no disagreements, no struggle, no fights to fight. Just peace. Fragile and temporary but nonetheless beautiful.</p><p><em>You must not grow too attached, too fond, too in love with life as it is now</em>, says a wise and familiar voice inside Kanan. <em>Becoming attached to time is even more dangerous than becoming attached to people. People will eventually fade out of your life, but time, memories, the past, they stay with you until the day you die. Falling in love with them will only prevent you from moving forward. Remember, Caleb, the universe is far from static. And as it changes, so must you.</em></p><p>Just let me have this moment, Kanan pleads, and he buries his face into Ezra’s hair. Just this. That’s all. Just for a little while longer.</p><p>“When can we start doing stuff together again?” Ezra’s voice is soft and melancholy.</p><p>Kanan opens his eyes. “Soon. Promise.” He reassures him by kissing his neck.</p><p>Ezra is not reassured. “How soon?”</p><p>“Another month or two.”</p><p>Ezra sighs. Kanan can feel his disappointment. It’s cold and grayish-green, like a dead thing.</p><p>After a moment Ezra twists around to face Kanan, gently takes him by the chin, and kisses him. There is hunger and need burning on the soft skin of his lips, desperate to get out, but he keeps the kiss shallow and his tongue never slips beyond Kanan’s teeth. Just as they agreed.</p><p>The sensual images return to Kanan’s mind, only this time he has no control over them. Then he realizes these are not the products of <em> his </em>mind—they’re Ezra’s. And they are far too graphic for a fifteen-year-old virgin to be having, even one who claims to have seen the inside of a brothel once. The only thing Kanan isn’t sure of is whether Ezra is doing this intentionally or by accident. After the syndis loop, he questions everything.</p><p>Ezra breaks the kiss and licks his lips. His eyes linger on Kanan’s mouth before rising to meet his gaze. He grins lopsidedly. Kanan grins back. Then Ezra gives him a peck on the cheek, climbs off of his lap without another word, and leaves the turret.</p><p>Kanan is left blinking at his reflection in the glass and listening to his pulse thump in his ears. His arms are empty, the warm spot where Ezra had been snuggled against him rapidly growing cold. His weight is gone, his scent vanishing, and the place on Kanan’s cheek where Ezra kissed him goodbye feels like ice.</p><p>A joke has just been played on him, he’s certain of it. A terribly ironic joke that he is too stupid to see right now. </p><p>A cocktail of confusion and sorrow and resentment threatens to boil up in him, not directed at Ezra, but at the loss of the sweet, wholesome moment they had been sharing. If he weren’t so disciplined Kanan would let himself descend into a foul mood and spend the rest of this otherwise lovely evening sulking and brooding—and drinking. He did a lot of that in his late teens and early 20s before Hera finally helped him break the habit. Probably saved his life, too.</p><p>He grimaces and reaches down to readjust himself. He’s half hard and wholly dejected. Not a good combination for anyone, much less a Jedi.</p><p>
  <em> Half-finished Padawan, you mean. </em>
</p><p>Kriff. He doesn’t need this kind of negativity from anyone right now, least of all himself.</p><p>With a disgruntled sigh, Kanan pulls himself out of the chair and goes to find something that doesn’t require a single critical thought. </p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>Watching the holonet with Sabine and Hera is what he ends up doing. It’s the perfect brains-free activity, especially for the Imperial channels. Listening to the latest stream of propaganda is always viciously amusing. No subtlety whatsoever, just pure unmitigated fascism so hilariously executed that it borders on masturbatory. Kanan is pretty sure most of the high-ranking officers get off on this stuff. Hera and Sabine liven it up even more with commentary, and before long Kanan is in a much better mood.</p><p>He says goodnight to the girls once he’s had all he can take and returns to his cabin. There’s a gift waiting for him on his pillow: a pair of boys’ underwear, heather gray, still warm. There are dark wet splotches on the front. Kanan picks them up and turns them inside out. There’s no mistaking the gooey, semi-white fluid gathered in the folds.</p><p>He screws his lips into a pout and opens the connection. <em> You sneaky little brat. </em></p><p>Ezra’s vindictive joy rushes through him in shades of orange and blue.</p><p><em> Hey, </em> you’re <em> the one behind this mess. </em> You <em> caused it, </em> you <em> deal with it.  </em></p><p>
  <em> Sounds like someone wants to do two hundred pushups tomorrow before training. And after it. </em>
</p><p><em> Fine with me. My arms are really starting to bulk up. So is my chest. I can actually see my pecs now. Too bad </em> you <em> can’t. </em></p><p>Kanan would be angry if he wasn’t secretly amused by this petty adolescent bullshit. Reminds him of his own days as a Padawan in the Jedi Temple. The competition, the cattiness, the companionship. He misses it.</p><p>
  <em> So that’s the plan? Torture? I’ve got some bad news for you, honey, I’ve been tortured before, and you don’t scare me. </em>
</p><p>Another flood of bright colors. Ezra’s laughter.</p><p><em> Oh, you’ll </em> know <em> when I’m torturing you, Kanan, believe me. I was just being nice tonight. Enjoy my shorts. You can give ‘em back to me tomorrow. Cleaned, please, thanks. Oh, and remember to “keep your thoughts to yourself”, Master. Gotta practice what you preach, you know. </em></p><p>The connection ends.</p><p>Kanan takes a deep breath and clenches his teeth.</p><p>Fuck it.</p><p>He spends a long time that night with Ezra’s underwear in one hand and his cock in the other, huffing the musky-sweet odor and remembering how good Ezra’s mouth felt on him, the warmth of his skin, the bitter tang of his semen on the back of his tongue. He climaxes, dizzy and hyperventilating, with the hunger inside him barely sated.</p><p>He has never wanted Ezra more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was recently rereading the <a href="https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Star_Wars:_Kanan">Kanan comic series</a> when I noticed I'd inadvertently worked a concept from it into this chapter. So I edited the lines to make them more exact, just for some canon continuity. This is the excerpt from Issue #1 featuring Master Depa Billaba and Padawan Caleb Dume:</p><p> </p><p>  </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. This is for real</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kanan has trouble following his own teachings... and his Padawan isn't making his life any easier.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Days pass. It gets worse. </p><p>Ezra is an insufferable tease. Kanan doesn’t know how or where he learned it. Surely he hasn’t figured out how to bypass the access restrictions on the holonet and watch the dirty channels. There are a lot of those. Maybe he picked up a few pornographic holozines on their last visit to Lothal, but erotic comics featuring stupidly horny, scantily-clad, ridiculously-endowed characters aren’t exactly known for their literary value, nor do they teach their readers anything about coyness or subtlety. That’s something that comes only with experience.</p><p>The thought troubles Kanan. Maybe this is something the syndis loop is responsible for. Passing on a small fragment of his Force—his wisdom and knowledge and experience, sexual and otherwise—to Ezra might explain this sudden precociousness. It plants a seed of fear in Kanan. Fear that if he doesn’t step up and begin meeting Ezra’s needs that Ezra will find someone who will. A stranger. An Imperial. Someone quick and easy. Pictures rise in his mind: Ezra bantering with stormtroopers, hips cocked, that dark look in his eyes. <em> I’ll suck your dick for five credits. When does your watch end? </em> Making coy offers to merchants in exchange for fruit or other commodities.</p><p><em> He’s done it before</em>, whispers a wormy voice, <em>he can do it again</em>.</p><p>Every time he hears it, Kanan shakes his head as if the motion might physically toss the vile thought out of his mind.</p><p>Ezra was never a whore. He wouldn’t do that no matter how desperate he becomes. Kanan knows that for a fact. He and Ezra love each other, trust each other. They’re bonded. This is just fear unbalancing him. Blind, irrational fear that comes from having a very deep, passionate attachment to someone, the kind of attachment Kanan has never had before.</p><p>Or maybe—and this is always the final conclusion whenever Kanan gets locked into these vicious cycles of worry—this is all Ezra. Just a natural, organic progression in his development. He’s grown up a lot since they first took him in. Simply learning to read has helped teach him to think critically, to analyze himself and the world around him. This is a key time in his life, a period of accelerated growth in both mind and body. It makes sense that his sexuality would also grow along with him.</p><p>Whatever it is, Kanan is spending too much time these days off balance. He has difficulty falling asleep, and his sleep is fitful even when he manages to find it. His dreams are vivid. His bunk feels too big and cold. He drags himself from day to day in a state of either melancholy or volatile, hair-trigger irritation—sometimes both. He wants Ezra and he can’t have him, that’s the thing. A man, even a Jedi, can deny himself easily when the object of his desire is far far away, when he isn’t kriffing bonded to it and forced to interact with it every day, when he doesn’t love it and care about it as much as his own life. </p><p>How ironic that this was one of the first major lessons he ever taught Ezra. The Empty Stomach Challenge. </p><p>
  <em> You need to learn to quiet these signals from your body and keep your mind on your objective. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’d feel a lot better if it wasn’t sitting over there and staring at me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Look at it as a reassurance, not a temptation. Your needs will be met. Take comfort in that. Until then, do what must be done. </em>
</p><p>It feels so long ago, those words, that lesson. A time when they were nothing more than Master and Padawan. Kanan tries to follow his own advice, but the constant temptation is beginning to wear on him, get under his skin, make him tired and careless. So tired and careless that one day he almost blows it with a slip of the tongue.</p><p>He doesn’t even remember what Ezra asked him—something about modifying the blaster portion of his lightsaber to give it a longer range, Kanan wasn’t paying that much attention—only that he answers, “Sure, honey,” while in the presence of the entire crew.</p><p>Terror sizzles through their bond as three pairs of bewildered eyes turn to Kanan. He freezes in his seat.</p><p>But Ezra—quick and clever Ezra, master of improvisation—saves them both with a snort and an exaggerated eye roll. “Okay, thanks, <em> Dad</em>.”</p><p>And just like that, everything is better. The mood shifts from serious to silly. <em> It’s just a joke</em>. <em> A playful tease. Not for real</em>. Sabine snickers and Zeb jabs his elbow into Ezra’s ribs and calls him “sonny boy”. Chopper chuckles, and even Hera tilts her head and gives them a charmed smile. But later, when she and Kanan are alone in the cockpit, she brings it up again.</p><p>“That was for real, wasn’t it?”</p><p>Kanan finishes inputting the last commands and turns to her. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“What you called Ezra earlier. It wasn’t a joke. It was a slip. You had that same look on your face then that you do now.”</p><p>“What look?”</p><p>“Fear.”</p><p>Kanan is silent. He stares blankly out at the stars and wishes he were a better liar because there is no way he is going to be able to get through this without lying. And he hates lying to Hera more than anything.</p><p>“I’ve seen the way you look at him.”</p><p>Shit, <em> shit</em>. So this is where it all comes undone. Fine. Let’s get this over with. </p><p>He closes his eyes and braces himself.</p><p>Hera’s voice is soft and sympathetic. “You’ve been calling him that for a while, haven’t you?”</p><p>Somehow Kanan manages to get his tongue to work. “Not too long. Past couple months.”</p><p>And then Hera does something that stuns him: she reaches out and grasps his hand. “You care about him a lot. I can see that. It’s a <em> good </em>thing, Kanan. People need people. I know you had the Code hammered into you as a boy, but nobody is going to throw you into Jedi jail for forming an attachment.”</p><p>Kanan gives her a puzzled look. </p><p>She smiles. “It’s okay. Really. People <em> need </em> to be loved. We <em> need </em>to get attached and emotionally invested. I don’t care what the Order says or used to say, if you just float through life without putting down roots, without finding something to cling to and be passionate about, then what good is all that wisdom and virtue and knowledge? It’s useless.”</p><p>Deep philosophical discussions about the ways of the Jedi are something Kanan avoids even more than the Empire, but right now he would gladly launch into a full dissertation if it means derailing this conversation.</p><p>“Ezra has spent half his life with no family or friends,” Hera continues, “nobody to protect him. But you stepped up and filled that role without hesitating, and I think that’s wonderful. Yes, you had doubts in the beginning, anyone would, and you two went through some rough patches, but everything worked out, didn’t it? Look at how far he’s come since we first took him in, how far both of you have come. You’re good for each other. Don’t let this ‘stoic Master Jedi’ nonsense prevent you from being a loving mentor to a boy who obviously needs one.”</p><p>Kanan blinks. Stares. </p><p>So she <em> doesn’t </em>know.  </p><p>His whole body sags with relief. He gets the hysterical urge to laugh but manages to restrain it. He scrubs his face tiredly and wonders how many gray hairs he’ll see in the mirror tomorrow.</p><p>“I’m trying,” he says. “It’s just…”</p><p>“I know. It’s not easy being a teacher. You still have a lot of things to learn. And unlearn.” Hera leans in and hugs him. “I’m always here if you need a shoulder.”</p><p>Kanan can almost feel tears in his eyes. He returns her hug, grateful for so many things right now, but chiefly her. Maybe she won’t be so surprised when he tells her the truth—if he ever tells her the truth. If this thing with Ezra doesn’t burn out or get him killed. If they don’t all die in an unexpected Imperial assault tomorrow. If he doesn’t end up blowing their cover with another karktastic slip like the one he made today. There are a lot of conditions.</p><p>“Thank you, Hera. You’re a good friend.”</p><p>“No, I’m a <em> great </em> friend.” She leans back and her grin straightens out. “Trust the Force, Kanan. It brought you and Ezra together. It brought <em> all </em>of us together for a purpose, and it’s not finished with us yet. Remember that.”</p><p>Kanan smirks. “Yes, Master Syndulla.”</p><p>“I prefer Captain.”</p><p>“So do I.”</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>Ezra is less sympathetic but more amused than Hera. “I can’t believe you actually said that.”</p><p>He and Kanan are in the <em> Phantom</em>, en route to a large moon where their next objective lies.</p><p>“Neither can I,” says Kanan. “It was a stupid mistake and I kick myself for making it.”</p><p>Ezra stares at the back of Kanan’s head for a moment, then steps up behind the pilot’s seat and starts massaging his unarmored shoulder. </p><p>“It might’ve been a stupid mistake, but at least it was an honest one,” he says. “You’re always telling me to be careful, but you forget I’ve been lying and hiding and keeping secrets way longer than you. I’m used to it. You’re not. You were raised to be a Jedi since you were little. You’re honest and righteous and… all those good things. You couldn’t be a sleemo if you tried.”</p><p>“I’m not perfect, Ezra.” </p><p>“Yeah, and I’m glad. Perfect people are so annoying.” He plays with Kanan’s ponytail, wagging it back and forth like a tail, and smiles to himself. “It’s kinda cute, though, how you’re so used to calling me ‘honey’ that it just slipped out.”</p><p>“Hn,” Kanan grumps. “Cute. Yeah. If you say so. It wasn’t <em> your </em>butt on the line back there.”</p><p>“Hey, I pulled your butt <em> off </em> the line, didn’t I? Everything was cool in the end. No harm done.”</p><p>“This time.”</p><p>Ezra stands quietly for a few moments, then sighs and leans against the headrest.</p><p>“Look, if you’re mad at me, just say it.”</p><p>“I’m not mad at you, Ezra. I’m just”—a frustrated sigh—“dealing with a lot of things right now.”</p><p>Ezra’s frown disappears as the revelation finally hits him. “Oh. Hey, if this is about me teasing you, I’m sorry. I promise I won’t do it anymore… as much.”</p><p>Kanan snorts and laughs. “You think I’m making stupid mistakes because I’m <em> horny</em>?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. Totally.”</p><p>He turns in his seat. Ezra is grinning at him. He’s beautiful, his eyes sparkling, his lips stretched in a wide, happy arc across his face. Kanan drinks in the view, lets his gaze wander all over this familiar, beloved landscape.</p><p>“I think you overestimate your power, Padawan.”</p><p>“You always wanted me to have more confidence, right?”</p><p>“Yes, <em>confidence</em>. Not arrogance.”</p><p>“Same thing.”</p><p>“No, it isn’t. Arrogance is—” </p><p>The navicomputer beeps, alerting them that they’ve drifted off course.</p><p>Kanan raises his finger. “We’ll finish this discussion later. We’ve got more important things to focus on right now.”</p><p>“Okay.” Ezra leans down and plants a kiss on the end of Kanan’s nose. “Try not to crash us into the moon, Dad. I’m really looking forward to you enlightening me later.” He slaps Kanan’s shoulder and returns to his seat in the rear of the shuttle.</p><p>Kanan turns back to the controller, muttering under his breath.</p><p>His Padawan is growing powerful indeed. Powerfully sarcastic. Powerfully persistent.</p><p>No doubt picking up on his Master’s annoyance resonating through their bond, Ezra croons from the back: “Love youuu.”</p><p>Kanan smiles despite himself and shakes his head. “I love you too, Ez. Are you strapped in?”</p><p>“Yup.”</p><p>“Good, because I think we might be in for a little turbulence.”</p><p>“Hey, as long as we don’t die, turbulence is always the fun part!”</p><p>Kanan wishes he had that kind of youthful optimism. It would make his life a hell of a lot easier right now.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>The mission is a marginal success. Three very tiring rotations of sabotage and subterfuge, shooting and being shot at, near misses and close escapes, including a hair-raising lightsaber fight against an entire company of stormtroopers. Kanan and Ezra don’t complete all of their objectives but manage to do enough enough to keep the mission moving forward. They rendezvous with the <em> Ghost </em> once their time is up, give Hera a full account of their experience, and then settle in to await news from Zeb and Sabine. Hopefully they have had better luck. Of course, their mission was much less risky than Kanan and Ezra’s.</p><p>Kanan’s communicator chirps during his evening meditation ritual. He sighs, rises from his seat on the floor, and trudges across his cabin to pick up his device.</p><p>“Go ahead.”</p><p>Ezra’s voice comes through: “<em>Hey. I just got outta the shower</em>.”</p><p>Kanan waits for him to elaborate. Nothing follows. He hits the transmit button. </p><p>“Congratulations. Is that all you wanted to tell me?”</p><p>“<em>Um, no. There’s a… I got kinda banged up when we were getting away from those bucket heads earlier today and I’ve got a couple big bruises. They really hurt. I think the one above my butt is pressing on a nerve or something because I can feel it all the way down to my knee and I was wondering</em>—”</p><p>“If I would come and take a look at it?”</p><p>“<em>Yeah</em>.”</p><p>Kanan sighs and rubs his eyes.</p><p>“<em>I swear I won’t make it hard on you. Or for you.</em>” A snicker. “<em>No, seriously. I’m serious, Kanan, promise. These things kriffing hurt.</em>”</p><p>“Language, Ezra.”</p><p>“<em>Sorry. They really hurt.</em>”</p><p>Kanan shakes his head. “This is a shared frequency, you know. Anyone can hear us.” And it’s not so much the curse word as it is the double entendre.</p><p>“<em>I said I’m sorry. Look, are you gonna come help me or not? I can’t reach the one on my shoulder and I don’t wanna waste a whole bunch of patches trying to get at it</em>.”</p><p>“Yes, I’ll come help you. There’s no need to get snippy.”</p><p>“<em>Sorry. I… didn’t get a lot of sleep the past few days</em>.”</p><p>Neither did Kanan. He’s tired and in no mood to deal with demanding teenagers, beloved Padawan or not. “It’s alright. See you in a minute.”</p><p>“<em>Okay. Thanks</em>.”</p><p>Roughly one minute later Kanan taps on the door to the refresher. It slides open to reveal a warm, still-damp Ezra standing with only a towel around his waist. His freshly washed hair is combed back from his face. It’s a good look for him, Kanan thinks. Neat and mature. Makes him look closer to eighteen—a short eighteen. Steam wafts out into the passageway. He steps into the cubicle and the door shuts behind him.</p><p>“Thanks for coming.”</p><p>“No problem,” Kanan says. Then he blinks and stares.</p><p>It’s been a while since he last saw this much of Ezra’s bare skin. He really <em> is </em>filling out; his deltoids are larger, his biceps more defined, and his chest is looking fuller. Two plump pectorals are forming where before was only a flat little boy’s chest. Even his nipples look more mature—tight and pebbled instead of the soft, vestigial female buds all human children possess. There’s also the barest hint of abdominal muscles beginning to appear beneath a thin layer of fat. Kanan can’t help but smile.</p><p>Ezra mirrors his smile with a curious tilt of his head. “What?”</p><p>“Nothing. You’re just… looking so grown up now. You’ve changed a lot. And fast.” He waves his hand up and down. “You look good.”</p><p>Ezra shrugs his uninjured shoulder. “I guess all that training is finally starting to pay off. Regular meals help, too.”</p><p>Kanan’s heart cringes at the memory. “Yeah, guess so.”</p><p>An awkward pause.</p><p>“Okay, uh, let’s take a look at these battle wounds.”</p><p>Ezra turns around and puts his hands on the edge of the sink, leans forward a little. The beginnings of two large, ugly bruises mar his otherwise flawless bronze skin. The smaller bruise is on his upper back, just to the right of his spine and grazing the top edge of his shoulder blade. The larger bruise is on his lower left side, partially hidden by the towel. Kanan pushes it down for a better view. Like the first one, this one has transitioned from magenta and is now darkening to a violent purple-blue. It’s large, at least 12 centimeters in diameter.</p><p>“Wow, that’s really something. How exactly did you get these?”</p><p>“This one”—Ezra taps his shoulder—“was me rolling over the handlebars when I crashed that speeder bike. This one”—he reaches around and taps his lower back—“was me landing on a f—on a stupid power transformer in the median.”</p><p>Kanan gets down on one knee for a closer look. In the middle of the darkening nebula of broken blood vessels is a red welt forming a perfect 90-degree angle. The corner of the aforementioned transformer. He runs his finger over it, presses lightly. Ezra jerks and hisses.</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“Nh. S’okay.”</p><p>Kanan squints. “How hard did you land on it? It looks like you’ve got a blood lesion forming here… or some other kind of deep-tissue damage.”</p><p>Ezra rolls his eyes and bobs his head along with Kanan’s words. “I didn’t exactly have time to focus on every little thing happening to me. One second I was going 80, the next I was laying on my back looking up at the stars.”</p><p>“It’s a miracle you didn’t break your spine.”</p><p>“Yeah. I think the Force was definitely with me today.”</p><p>Kanan smirks at that. “You said you have nerve pain?”</p><p>“Yeah, it starts right above my crack and—”</p><p>“Moves out to the hip and down?” He lightly draws a path across Ezra’s left buttock.</p><p>“Yeah. How’d you know?”</p><p>“Sounds like your sciatic nerve is inflamed. Hera gets that all the time. Curse of the captain’s chair, she calls it. It’s a real pain in the ass.”</p><p>Ezra laughs. Kanan looks up and their gazes meet in the mirror. Ezra’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes sparkling. He’s a handsome boy, going to be a very handsome man someday. All the signs are there. It will happen fast, Kanan knows. He’s going to look down one minute and look up the next, and Ezra will be twenty-five. He’ll have whiskers, maybe. A mustache, a beard. Shorter or longer hair. He’ll be taller, a little broader, more filled out. His lightsaber will have changed its shape to something less childish, a sleeker, more mature design. Maybe in ten years’ time the Empire will be gone and he’ll be able to wear the robes of a Jedi Knight. Kanan can’t wait to meet that man, Master Bridger. He hopes he will.</p><p>“You really think I’ll be a Jedi Master someday?” Ezra’s soft voice brings him back to the present.</p><p>Kanan is positive he was keeping his thoughts blocked. How did that slip past?</p><p>“Yeah, I do. Just as long as you don’t crash any more bikes.”</p><p>“Hm, no promises.”</p><p>Kanan pats Ezra’s rump and rises. “Let me get a couple anodyne patches. That ought to take care of the worst of it. You might want to pop a salicet before you go to bed, just as a precaution. You’re probably going to be stiff when you wake up in the morning.”</p><p>“I’m stiff when I wake up every morning.”</p><p>It takes Kanan a moment to get the joke. He lowers his eyelids while Ezra leers at him. “You’re awful.”</p><p>“Yeah. Awfully smart, awfully talented…”</p><p>“Awfully modest.”</p><p>Ezra chuckles and sticks out his tongue. </p><p>Kanan’s heart swells. Stars, he misses this boy so much. Being with him, holding him, sleeping beside him. The feel of his body, the taste of his… </p><p>“Uh. Be right back,” he says.</p><p>He goes to the ship’s infirmary—little more than a closet tucked between the galley and the lounge—and returns with a medpac. Ezra is still in the same position, leaning on the sink and staring pensively into the mirror. Kanan wonders what he was thinking about while he was gone.</p><p>He carefully applies an anodyne patch to Ezra’s upper bruise before crouching down to tend to the other.</p><p>“Can you lower your towel a bit more?”</p><p>Ezra does a little more than that; he unfastens the towel and lets it drop to the floor. Kanan is suddenly eye-level with Ezra’s bare bottom, and they’re the loveliest pair of cheeks he’s ever seen. Smooth, slightly paler than the rest of his skin, covered all over with soft, fine hairs that are invisible in the light. Kanan has the bizarre urge to grasp them in both hands and knead the flesh like a contented tooka. Maybe lean forward and kiss them, or press his teeth into them just to see if Ezra erupts in a ticklish fit. Then he’d spread them apart and lick—</p><p>
  <em> Chastity, Jarrus. </em>
</p><p>Kanan shakes his head, blinks. He pulls the strip off the back of the patch and lays it on the bruise. He takes more time than is really necessary to smooth out all the bubbles and wrinkles.</p><p>“Okay, all set.”</p><p>“You’re not gonna kiss it?” Ezra has the audacity to wiggle his hips. </p><p>It does Kanan no favors. He’s been fighting to keep his libido in check ever since he arrived. If he gets any closer to Ezra’s hindquarters, he might just lose his willpower entirely.</p><p>“You’re not seven years old, Ezra.”</p><p>“I know, but it’s something my parents used to do. Didn’t your parents ever—” He stops. “Oh. I’m sorry, Kanan, I forgot.”</p><p>“It’s okay.” Kanan means it. He has no memories of his parents. No one lovingly binding his childhood scrapes or kissing the bandages. No one drying his tears or letting him sleep in their bed when the bad dreams came. He counts himself lucky for his ignorance. To have parents and know that kind of love, like Ezra did, makes losing them a thousand times more painful. At least Kanan was spared that particular brand of sorrow.</p><p>He holds Ezra’s narrow hips and plants a firm kiss onto the patch. “There. This is the only time I’m ever going to kiss my Padawan’s ass, so try to keep it out of trouble from now on, okay?”</p><p>“Yes, Master.”</p><p>Kanan stands up. Ezra turns and faces him. It’s cramped in the refresher and they stand almost chest to chest with one another. Tendrils of Ezra’s hair are beginning to relax as they dry, spilling into their usual position over his forehead. His eyes are the dark indigo of a sky at sunset after the sun has disappeared and the land still clings to its warmth. He’s painfully attractive. Kanan wants him with every fiber of his being. More than that, he needs him. And by the look in his eyes—and the feelings surging through their bond—Ezra wants him, too.</p><p>Surrender comes easily. Kanan lowers his eyelids, tilts his head, and goes in for the kiss. Ezra is already sliding his arms over Kanan’s shoulders when their mouths meet. This is not the chaste kissing they agreed upon at the beginning of their self-imposed abstinence. This is a ravenous kiss, wide and deep and full of motion. Noses mashing into cheeks. Air whooshing through nostrils. Smacking lips, sinuous tongues. Gasps for breath when they come apart and rejoin.</p><p>Stars, Kanan has missed this.</p><p>He rolls his pelvis into Ezra, lets him feel his need. Ezra gasps and opens his legs and practically grinds himself against the bulge in Kanan’s trousers. Kanan grabs a handful of naked thigh and hikes it up around his waist. He squeezes the flesh greedily, fingers sinking into fat and muscle. Ezra balances on his toes, rocks his hips, tugs at Kanan’s shirt like he wants him to take it off. Kanan breaks the kiss to oblige him. Off it comes, inside out, and lands on the floor. Kanan’s hair is charged with static. When he kisses Ezra again, a spark ignites on their lips with a bright snap.</p><p>“Ow!”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>Ezra giggles, wrinkles his nose, and pulls him back in. He slips his hands between their bodies and rubs circles on Kanan’s chest, follows the direction of his hair growth in and up, panting into Kanan’s mouth.</p><p>Kanan grunts deep in his throat when Ezra rubs his nipples. They’ve never felt this good when they’ve been touched before. Why now all of a sudden? Is it because they’ve been celibate for so long? Is it because of the syndis loop? Kanan decides it doesn’t matter. Ezra is in his arms and naked and everything is wonderful.</p><p>He reaches around with his free hand and grasps Ezra’s buttock, massaging the flesh before sliding down to the crease where cheek meets thigh, the place that feels like it was custom-made for his hand. The tips of his fingers are almost in Ezra’s crack, just centimeters away from the hot little hole into which Kanan is someday going to stick his tongue and his fingers and then his—</p><p>Ezra breaks the kiss. Nose to nose with Kanan, he stares into his shadowed eyes and whispers, “You wanna fuck me?” He sinks his fingers into Kanan’s hair. “You wanna fuck your Padawan?”</p><p>The lush, low sound of his voice and the filthiness of his words is almost enough to make Kanan come in his pants.</p><p>“Yeah, I do. But not here. Not now. I want our first time to be special.”</p><p>He rocks against Ezra rhythmically, trying out the motion of sex. Ezra helps him by jumping up and wrapping his remaining leg around Kanan’s hips. He’s heavier now, Kanan notices, but still easy to lift and hold. He gives Ezra a short bounce to move him up higher. Ezra’s erection leaks between their naked bellies while the bulge in Kanan’s trousers bumps between Ezra’s cheeks.</p><p>“God, Kanan,” Ezra whimpers between grinding and clinging and kissing and panting. “I can’t wait to feel you in me. To really be one with you.”</p><p>Kanan’s nerves sizzle at his words. “I know, honey. Me too.”</p><p>Ezra smiles and tosses his head, causing the rest of his damp hair to fall into his eyes. Then he shuts them and latches on to Kanan’s earlobe, sucking and biting in earnest.</p><p>Kanan catches sight of their reflections in the mirror: Ezra’s lithe, naked back with its two white anodyne patches, legs and arms wrapped around him; Kanan’s hairy arms holding him steady as they pseudo-fuck in the refresher like a pair of absolute degenerates. </p><p>And that’s when Kanan gets a really bad idea. He stops thrusting and sets Ezra back on his feet.</p><p>“What? What is it?” Ezra asks, then clamps his mouth shut when Kanan pulls off his boots, unbuttons his trousers and shucks them off his legs. “Oh shit, did you change your mind? Are we doing this now?”</p><p>Kanan shakes his head and reaches past Ezra to open the cabinet behind the mirror. His erection stabs into Ezra’s belly when he leans over, and Ezra lets out an “oof” of discomfort.</p><p>“No, we’re going to do something else.”</p><p>He grabs a tubular container and shuts the cabinet. Ezra watches, fascinated, as Kanan uncaps the tube and squirts out a clear, gelatinous substance.</p><p>“What is that stuff?”</p><p>“Lubricant. Turn around, I’ll show you how to use it.”</p><p>Ezra bites his smiling lips and does as instructed, taking up his previous position leaning against the sink. His erection juts over the edge comically.</p><p>Kanan rubs the lube between his hands to activate the warming chemicals and then reaches down and slathers it between Ezra’s thighs.</p><p>“Oh,” Ezra gasps and jumps a little. “Hey, that feels nice.”</p><p>“Good, because we’re going to be using it a lot from now on.”</p><p>“Promise?”</p><p>Kanan smiles and kisses Ezra’s temple. They both look at their reflections then, happy and naked and unashamed, the color of their eyes and skin complementing one another; green and blue, olive and copper. Kanan takes a moment to wrap his arm around Ezra’s waist and rest his bearded chin on his shoulder, press a kiss to his clammy neck.</p><p>Ezra grins, intoxicated. “Wow, look at us. We’re so sexy.”</p><p>“We look pretty good together, don’t we?”</p><p>“We look pretty, period. Bet our kids would be gorgeous.” All amusement abruptly drains from his face. “That can’t happen, can it?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You can’t, like… knock me up with a Force baby, can you? Should I get a contraceptive shot or something? I love you, Kanan, but I don’t wanna be pregnant. I’m not built for motherhood. Literally or hypothermically.”</p><p>Kanan presses his mouth against Ezra’s shoulder to stifle his laughter. Ezra pretends to be offended.</p><p>“<em>What</em>? I’m being serious, Kanan, this isn’t funny. If you knock me up I will <em> never </em>forgive you, I swear.”</p><p>“We covered human reproduction months ago, Ezra. You should already know what you’re suggesting is impossible.”</p><p>“Yeah, for <em> normal </em> people, but what about Jedi? I’ve seen the Force do some pretty crazy things, and I <em> really </em>don’t wanna pop out a kid before I can legally buy a drink.”</p><p>Kanan is still smiling and shaking his head. “Trust me, Ez, you’re in no danger. The Force can do many things, but it can’t give you a uterus. Only medical technology can do that.”</p><p>“Oh.” Ezra relaxes, sighs. “Okay. Good. Good to know.”</p><p>“Besides, I don’t think I could handle a kid with a double dose of Jedi genetics anyway. Especially if he takes after you.”</p><p>“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? I’m awesome, thank you very much.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.” Kanan kisses Ezra’s shoulder and wipes the rest of the lube onto his own erection. Then he bends his knees until he reaches the correct height to slide himself between Ezra’s thighs. “Back up a little. You want to be able to see this.”</p><p>They shuffle backward just enough to see the tip of Kanan’s cock bobbing between Ezra’s thighs in the mirror.</p><p>“Okay, good. Now close your legs.”</p><p>“I think I know where this is going,” Ezra says and brings his feet together.</p><p>Kanan gives an experimental pull—his penis drags slickly between Ezra’s lubricated flesh, disappearing—and pushes back through, reappearing.</p><p>Ezra grins wickedly. “Ohhh ho ho, I <em> definitely </em>know where this is going: right past my taint.”</p><p>Kanan rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. “Ezra…”</p><p>“Sorry. <em> Perineum</em>. <em> There</em>, Mister Medical-Science Dictionary Droid. Happy now?”</p><p>“You’re totally killing the mood.”</p><p>“Oh, gimme a break. Your dick is harder than duracrete. I <em> know</em>, I can feel it. All the jokes in the world couldn’t make you soft.”</p><p>He’s probably right. But it’s difficult to fuck when you’re laughing. Maybe. Kanan has never tried it. He sighs and shakes his head. </p><p>“Alright, enough. You ready?”</p><p>Ezra nods. </p><p>Kanan slips one arm around Ezra’s waist and takes his cock in hand. He pulls back and thrusts through the warm, slick embrace of Ezra’s thighs while stroking Ezra in a similar motion. Ezra’s eyes flutter. He reaches up and puts one hand on the back of Kanan’s neck and rests the other on his muscular forearm.</p><p>For the next few minutes neither of them speaks. They open their minds to one another and let their thoughts and emotions flow. It’s like coming home after a long journey, returning to familiar scenery that is precious and full of memory. The small room fills with gasps and grunts and sighs and the squelch of Kanan’s cock as it glides between Ezra’s legs, bumping into his scrotum every now and then. They move in unison, hips rolling, muscles flexing, skin beading with sweat in the warm, humid air.</p><p>Ezra is the first to come, tightening his grip on Kanan and clenching his teeth as he shoots three jets of semen into the sink. Bright magentas and purples and colors unknown and unnamed by mortal eyes explode between them, shifting like an aurora, turbulent as a stormy sea. Kanan gives one hard, final thrust and spills into the sink as well. A single line spatters onto the bottom of the mirror and slowly begins to drip downward.</p><p>Kanan’s legs begin to shake from standing and rutting at an awkward height for so long. Ezra is in a similar state of bliss, his whole body trembling, vibrating like a plucked string.</p><p>“Kay. Kanan,” he pants.</p><p>A million parsecs away, Kanan is floating in a glittering, star-strewn paradise. Then Ezra’s voice slowly pulls him back like a fish on the end of a line. He blinks and finds himself in an even better place: in a dim, claustrophobic refresher on a rebel spacecraft somewhere in the Outer Rim with the person he loves more than anyone else in the galaxy.</p><p>“Yeah, honey?”</p><p>“Keep going. I’m not finished.”</p><p>Indeed, Ezra is still hard and throbbing in Kanan’s hand. He gets back to work.</p><p>Ten minutes and three more ejaculations later, Ezra shivers and slumps bonelessly into Kanan’s embrace. Kanan pulls him over and places him on the stool in the corner, then he grabs a wash cloth from one of the overheads and runs it under the hot tap. Ezra comes to his senses with Kanan wiping his thighs and belly clean. The cleansing heat feels soothing and good. He gazes at Kanan through dreamy, half-lidded eyes.</p><p>“You take such good care of me.”</p><p>Kanan lifts his head with a smile. “I’m supposed to. And I want to.” He gets up and rinses the cloth, wrings it out, and kneels before Ezra again like a knight before his sovereign. Ezra sits up and takes Kanan’s head in his hands, leans down, and kisses him slowly and tenderly. They part and stare into each other’s eyes.</p><p>“Someday I want you to wash me,” Ezra says. “We’ll find a great big tub and take that rich-people bath I told you about. Together. Water up to our necks, enough to swim in. Lots of bubbles and good-smelling oils and fluffy towels and all that stuff. I’ll wash your hair… even your beard.” </p><p>He takes hold of Kanan’s goatee and gives his chin a shake. Kanan chuckles.</p><p>Ezra’s grin fades and a wistful expression settles on his face. “I just wanna sit naked with you someplace warm and not worry about the Empire or anything for a while.”</p><p>“Sounds like a good dream,” says Kanan. And an effective way to erase all the disturbing baths Ezra had been forced to take as a child. </p><p>“You think it’ll ever happen?”</p><p>“I hope it will. I’ve never had a bath like that before. It’s something you could teach me for a change.”</p><p>Ezra bites his lip and pulls the still-warm cloth out of Kanan’s grasp. “How about we start practicing now? Trade places with me.”</p><p>Kanan’s eyebrows spring up in surprise. Ezra is already on his feet and guiding him onto the stool. As Ezra squats between his Master’s knees and begins to gently clean the dried lube from his genitals, arousal throbs through Kanan’s being, rekindling his desire. </p><p>He leans his head back and takes a deep breath.</p><p>So much for abstinence.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. In your embrace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ezra finally finds his place, and Kanan finally finds his home.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Returning to Lothal always feels like going home. Kanan doesn’t know why. He has never lived there, has no family there, had never even been to the system until a few years ago. There is no reason it should feel this comfortable to him, but it does.</p><p>Maybe it’s Ezra. Maybe it’s yet another side effect of the syndis loop, this blending of their emotions. But Kanan has none of Ezra’s energy circulating inside him, so is the loop really to blame, or is it just his perception? Perhaps it’s simply the way he feels whenever he sees Ezra leaning forward in his seat as Lothal comes into view, like he is now. The way his eyes drink in the sight of his home planet, the smile on his lips, the colors of his Force brightening through their bond. <em>Nostalgia</em>. <em> Safety</em>. <em> Familiarity</em>. Even though it’s a place where he suffered and starved and endured some of the worst abuses an orphan could face, it’s still home to him.</p><p>Kanan realizes he will never be able to take Ezra away from here. Not permanently. This is where his life began, where his parents raised him, where he grew up. He’ll likely want to settle here someday if—when, <em> when</em>, be optimistic, Jarrus—the Empire falls. Perhaps he’ll get married and raise a family of his own. Ezra’s children. Sons and daughters, little copies of him scampering around a warm, sunny home with their indigo eyes and bright smiles and dark, fluffy hair.</p><p>The thought depresses Kanan for reasons he can’t explain. And somehow, either because of syndis or his own carelessness, those emotions reach Ezra.</p><p>Ezra’s smile fades like a moon falling into shadow. He turns to look at his Master. “You okay?”</p><p>After a startled moment, Kanan puts on a cheerful mask. “Yeah. Never better.”</p><p>They can’t say too much; he, Ezra, Hera and Sabine are assembled in the cockpit, strapped in for landing. Zeb is up in the dorsal turret, keeping an eye out for hostile Imperials.</p><p>“You sure?” Ezra says. “Because I feel…” He rubs the base of his throat and gazes worriedly at Kanan. </p><p>
  <em> You’re sad and… something else. Like anger, but not as strong. A mix of anger and sadness. Regret? </em>
</p><p>No, Kanan realizes after a moment of private reflection. It’s jealousy. The thought of Ezra sharing his life with anyone other than him, of falling in love and making children and raising them and forgetting all about the bond he once shared with his old Master, fills Kanan with a strain of loathing and greed so diabolically twisted that it shocks him. He throws as many walls around his mind as he can, closing up this ugly part of himself so Ezra won’t see it. He’ll deal with it later.</p><p>“Visiting Tarkintown is never easy,” he says. It isn’t the actual truth, but it’s not a lie, either.</p><p>Ezra relaxes and nods, satisfied with the answer. “Well, I bet they’ll be happy when they see all the supplies we’ve brought them.”</p><p>“They always are.”</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>They land in their usual spot, LSC 1, they call it. Lothal Surface Camp One, or simply “the camp”. Located in the middle of an undeveloped expanse of wilderness and equidistant between three major cities, the site is far enough away to avoid the Empire’s presence but close enough to reach civilization via speeder bike or shuttle in half an hour. </p><p>They use the <em> Phantom </em>to transport several crates of necessities to the residents of Tarkintown. It does Kanan’s heart good to see Ezra handing out rations and medical supplies, talking to the people, smiling, encouraging them, giving them hope. Of all the Spectres, he knows best what these displaced, suffering families are going through. He has been homeless, hungry and persecuted, has spent most of his life in one or more of those states. He can empathize, not just sympathize, and that earns him trust and gratitude from all those he helps.</p><p>“Thanks, mister!” sings a pair of young children, waving their chubby little hands as their mother leads them away.</p><p>Ezra laughs and waves back. Then he greets the next family in line and digs through the crate for another case of dehydrated meals.</p><p>He’s changed so much in the last year, Kanan thinks wistfully, watching from the side and sharing a cup of caf with Hera. He’s matured, become so much more than the cynical, untrusting youth who only looked out for himself. He hasn’t grown physically, but he looks taller somehow. He’s standing straighter, proud and confident, a preview of the man he will soon become.</p><p>Visions were never Kanan’s proclivity, but his imagination has always been vivid; he imagines Ezra years from now, a strong, handsome Jedi dressed in sand-colored robes and tall brown boots, a lightsaber on his belt. Same crooked smile, same sparkling eyes and long hair. The scar on his cheek is new, though.</p><p>Kanan blinks, frowns. </p><p>Scar?</p><p>Ezra, perhaps sensing his Master’s gaze, turns to him. His smile softens and his eyes relax, radiating tenderness. <em> I love this</em>, he seems to say, though Kanan can hear nothing through their connection right now. <em> And I love you. Thank you for showing me a different path. </em></p><p>Kanan imitates Ezra’s favorite salute, two fingers fired from his right eyebrow. Ezra lifts his chin, returns the gesture, and gets back to work.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>Whenever the <em> Ghost </em> is on-world or in atmosphere, Hera takes the opportunity to refresh and recharge the ship’s humidifiers, dumping the old H<sub>2</sub>O tanks, cleaning the filters, and using the condensers to draw in moisture from the outside. In this way they replenish the onboard water supply, both the drinking and the utility water. Then everyone gets a chance to indulge in a true liquid shower instead of the typical steam or sonic shower. Something about soap and water feels a thousand times more cleansing than any other bathing method. Zeb and Chopper are the only members of the crew who decline.</p><p>The sun has set and the sky is darkening by the time Ezra, always the last one to shower since he takes the longest, trots out of the refresher still soaking wet, singing under his breath and leaving drippy footprints on the deck. He is getting dressed in his cabin, the doors wide open, when Kanan knocks on the bulkhead. </p><p>“Hey. Wanna camp out tonight?” he asks, his gaze fixed on Ezra’s glistening torso.</p><p>“You mean strengthen our connection to the Force by sleeping outside in a natural environment?” Ezra turns to him with a playful smirk, shirt in hand. Sleek tendrils of blue-black hair fall over his forehead. “Of course, Master. That’s a great idea. I’ve been feeling kinda off-balance lately.” He bites his bottom lip and gives Kanan a sultry look, eyes wandering up and down his body. “<em>Really </em> off-balance.”</p><p>“Hm. Sounds like you need to recenter yourself. Clear your mind.”</p><p>“Yeah, my mind could definitely use a good cleaning. Uh, clearing.” Ezra wags his eyebrows to indicate the slip was intentional.</p><p>Kanan cracks a grin. “Alright then. Pack your bag. I’ll go tell Hera we’re taking off.”</p><p>“Affirmative.”</p><p>They load their bedrolls onto their speeder bikes and ride two klicks southwest until they come upon a trio of rocky monoliths forming an almost equilateral triangle. They lay out their pads and blankets and pillows on the patch of bare ground in the middle. Every now and then they look up at each other and smile like two sneaky kids about to stir up mischief. By the time they get everything arranged, they are almost vibrating with eagerness.</p><p>They sit down and take off their boots, removing armor, belts, lightsabers and other accoutrements. When nothing remains but their soft clothes, they come together with a hug and a kiss, opening to each other like they always do. Ezra has gotten much better at kissing in the last two months, especially when it was the deepest form of affection they could share. He licks his way into Kanan’s mouth, sucks his lips, opens up and lets Kanan’s tongue enter him. He carefully slides the tie from Kanan’s ponytail and combs his fingers through his hair until it’s spread out around his shoulders in dark brown waves. Then he pushes Kanan onto his back and straddles him, keeping their mouths connected the entire time. </p><p>It feels so good to be alone, to not have to keep quiet or worry about someone knocking on the door. Out here they won’t be disturbed or discovered. They can play and wrestle, laugh, moan, even scream if they feel like it.</p><p>Kanan wonders if Ezra is a screamer.</p><p>He tugs at the teenager’s short brown jacket. Ezra wrestles it off and tosses it aside. He unzips his jumpsuit to the waist and yanks his undershirt over his head, then drops down onto his hands again and, with a devilish grin, rubs himself against the bulge in Kanan’s trousers. Creamy moonlight spills over his skin and the contours of his muscles, all scars and blemishes muted by the silvery radiance. A bright halo glows around his head and turns the edges of his hair blue. The moons hang in the sky just above his right shoulder. It’s the most beautiful sight Kanan has ever seen in his life, something he will never forget. He stares, etching every detail into his memory.</p><p>“Come here, gorgeous,” he murmurs.</p><p>Ezra makes a bashful sound and leans down to kiss him.</p><p>Garment by garment they peel themselves out of their clothes like a pair of snakes shedding their skins, touching each new, naked inch as it’s revealed. Bellies, genitals, thighs, legs. Soon their clothes are wadded inside-out at their feet and they lie naked beneath the twin moons, rolling around on their makeshift bed, kissing and caressing one another in the cool night air. It’s strange how there is so much privacy out here in the wide open, no walls or curtains to screen them from sight. The stars and the moons are the only witnesses to their passion.</p><p>Sprawled on his back now, Ezra breaks the kiss and nuzzles Kanan’s cheek. “I wanna go all the way tonight.” He wraps his hand around Kanan and gives him a stroke. “I’m ready. I wanna feel you inside me.”</p><p>Kanan’s heart rate kicks up a few BPMs. He gulps and rubs Ezra’s thigh, dares to look down at him. Ezra’s cock lies red and leaking against his belly; he spreads his legs open and bends one knee in invitation.</p><p>Kanan takes a long, slow breath.</p><p>Three days earlier, on Garel, he walked into a little all-hours pharmacy and bought condoms for the first time in four years. Just in case, he had told himself. In case it happened early. In case he got stupid and couldn’t resist. It had crossed his mind that the temptation might be worse if he had condoms on hand, but then he decided it was better—and infinitely more important—to make sure he and Ezra were safe when the time came than to be irresponsible and pretend that not having condoms would keep them chaste. Sex was inevitable, Kanan was certain of that. And whenever it happened, be it two weeks or two years from now, he wanted to be ready for it. </p><p>“Kay?”</p><p>He blinks. </p><p>Ezra is staring up at him with his large, pretty eyes. “You alright?”</p><p>Kanan nods and gives him a shaky smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little nervous. And excited.”</p><p>“Yeah, me too. More excited than nervous, though.” </p><p>“Can you give me a second?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Kanan kisses Ezra’s forehead, then gets up and goes to his speeder bike and starts rummaging around in one of the saddlebags. Ezra stretches out on his side and admires the view. Kanan returns with a roll of condoms, a pack of hand wipes, and a new bottle of lubricant. He kneels in front of Ezra. Ezra stares at him, lip between his teeth and toes curling eagerly.</p><p>“You wanna start now or keep playing around?” asks Kanan.</p><p>“Now.” Ezra tilts his head to one side. “Please.”</p><p>Kanan picks up the bottle of lube and squirts a dollop of gel onto his fingers. He looks the boy in the eye. </p><p>“This is your first time, so I’m going to need you to be very clear with me. If you want to stop at any point, you <em> tell me</em>, okay? I will not be angry or upset, I promise. If something hurts, tell me. If it feels good, tell me. I need to know these things so I don’t hurt you. Understand?”</p><p>“Yes, Master.”</p><p>“You don’t have to call me Master right now. We’re not training.”</p><p>“I know, but you were using your teacher voice. I can’t help but answer ‘Master’ to that.”</p><p>Kanan smiles. “Alright. Lay back and spread your legs open. Relax. Breathe normally. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”</p><p>Ezra does as he’s told, breathing in through his nose and exhaling slowly through his mouth. Kanan reaches between Ezra’s legs and feels around until he finds his anus. It’s warm and crinkly and seems extremely small. He applies lube to the outside, watching Ezra’s face for any sign of discomfort. Then he carefully pushes one finger inside.</p><p>Ezra takes a breath and tilts his chin up, closes his eyes. “Ha. Ah. That feels good.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Okay, it actually feels pretty weird, but it doesn’t hurt. Keep going.”</p><p>Kanan carefully works his finger in and out a few times, massaging the virgin muscle and reapplying lube as needed. He locates Ezra’s prostate and spends a little time stimulating it, letting Ezra get used to the feeling until the strangeness fades and pleasure returns. His penis, which had softened in the meantime, begins to swell and stiffen again.</p><p>Kanan withdraws, pours on a bit more lube, and adds another finger. Ezra opens up and takes it easily, completely relaxed and content. He gazes at Kanan over the rise of his chest, eyes dark and half-lidded. Feelings of safety and trust and love pour through their bond, and Kanan leans down to kiss him. Ezra spreads his legs and angles his hips upward. Kanan grabs a pillow with his free hand and plants it under Ezra’s backside to keep him propped up.</p><p>He works Ezra with his fingers until he’s sliding in and out with almost no resistance. Ezra is gasping for breath, his chest rising and falling with increasing speed. Kanan can almost hear his heartbeat. He looks down at his hand moving in the shadows, at his glistening fingers gliding in and out of the boy he loves, and for once feels no guilt or shame.</p><p>He rubs Ezra’s gland one last time, just to get another beautiful whimper out of him, before pulling out and sitting up. He cleans his hand with a wipe and carefully opens a condom packet. He had gone a little flaccid while he was prepping Ezra, but a few quick strokes bring him back to full hardness.</p><p>Ezra props himself up on his elbows and watches Kanan unroll the rubbery sleeve onto his erection. Once it’s snugly in place, he moves to sit between Ezra’s thighs.</p><p>“Are you sure about this?” he asks one last time.</p><p>Ezra looks him in the eye. “Yes.”</p><p>Kanan feels his surety. There is no hesitation, no fear. He is ready.</p><p>He pulls Ezra’s lower body up to meet him and leans over, supporting the small of his back with one hand. With his other hand he grasps his own cock and lines himself up. Then he presses inside. The flesh yields, opening like a flower, and swallows him in a tight, hot embrace.</p><p>Ezra’s eyes roll back. “Oh… <em> God</em>.”</p><p>“Talk to me, honey,” Kanan says even as he pushes deeper.</p><p>“You’re big. So big and—kriffing <em> stars</em>, Kanan, you feel so good. More. Come on, all the way, fill me. I wanna feel every inch of you.”</p><p>His words make Kanan’s head spin. He throbs with excitement. He slides in smoothly, aided by the lube coating Ezra’s passage and the additional lubrication on the condom. Soon his balls are pressed snugly to Ezra’s bottom. Ezra clenches around him, knees bent, heels digging into the blankets. He tilts his head back and releases a moan into the night, loud and unrestrained. Kanan can <em> see </em>the colors in the sound itself, feel their warmth flowing into him. He pulls out slowly, looking down as he emerges from Ezra’s body, and then pushes back in.</p><p>“Unh,” Ezra grunts.</p><p>Kanan repeats the motion, this time with a little more force.</p><p>Ezra clenches the bedding. “Oh yes, <em>yes</em>. Just like that. Give it to me like that, Kanan, please. Haa.”</p><p>It takes all of Kanan’s willpower to keep his mind from tearing apart. Heart pounding and breathing heavily through his mouth, he takes hold of Ezra’s hips and begins to thrust.</p><p>It truly feels like coming home now. He <em> is </em> home—with Ezra, inside Ezra.</p><p>They begin in this position, Ezra lying with most of his weight on his upper back and his hips held in the air, Kanan rocking back and forth on his knees and huffing and puffing, not from exertion, but from the incredible feeling of Ezra around him. Tight, warm, and all his. </p><p><em> I am the first man to know him</em>, he thinks, staring down at Ezra’s flushed, love-drunk face in the moonlight. <em> I want to be the only man to know him. No others after me. The only one. Ezra is mine. And I am his. </em></p><p>“Ah… hah, I am,” Ezra pants through smiling lips. He reaches out and lays his hand on Kanan’s chest, just beneath his throat. “And you are. All mine.”</p><p>Kanan’s balls tighten and he feels himself begin to crest; he pulls out completely to keep from coming. He uses the intermission as an opportunity to give Ezra some much-needed attention. He lowers Ezra’s hips and lays him flat on the blankets, then goes down and starts sucking him. </p><p>Ezra spreads his legs like a butterfly’s wings and holds Kanan’s head in his hands, moaning toward the sky. Kanan comes back from the edge after a few minutes. He releases Ezra with a slurp and crawls back into position. Ezra welcomes him with open arms, pulling him down in a kiss and wrapping his legs around Kanan’s waist.</p><p>Kanan loses himself for a few minutes. That always happens whenever he kisses Ezra. Time stops and suddenly nothing exists but color and emotion, a level of intimacy that can only be achieved when their heads are this close together. Thoughts and memories rush back and forth, mixing to form new colors like paint on an artist’s palette. It’s the closest two souls can get to one another on this side of eternity, of that he is certain.</p><p>When he finally breaks away for a breath, Kanan discovers that his cock has somehow found its way back inside Ezra and he’s thrusting again. He doesn’t remember having to feel around or line himself up; he just slipped inside like it’s where he was always meant to be, like this is supposed to be their natural state: joined, one inside the other. A different kind of syndis loop.</p><p>“How do you feel, honey?” he whispers in Ezra’s ear and strokes his hand through his dark hair. “Is this good? Is this what you want?”</p><p>He knows the answers, of course. He can feel them. He just wants to hear the words aloud.</p><p>“Yes,” Ezra purrs. “This is great. Exactly what I want. Although…” He unlatches his arms from around Kanan’s shoulders and raises them over his head, pushes his chest up—an invitation to play with his nipples. He really seems to like that, Kanan has noticed. No problem. He indulges him, lowering his head and sucking one nipple while pinching the other, trading off with mouth and hand until Ezra is moaning at the moons and pulling Kanan’s hair, writhing and humping in time with his thrusts.</p><p>“Think you can come for me like this?” Kanan asks around one rosy bud.</p><p>Ezra mews, incoherent.</p><p>Kanan sits up and pulls both of Ezra’s legs over his shoulders. Then he leans forward, moving Ezra’s lower body with him, and thrusts hard. Everything is so tight at this angle, squeezing, glorious—</p><p>A breathless “YES” erupts from Ezra’s mouth, then his fingernails embed themselves in Kanan’s forearms. He ejaculates, untouched, in the air between their bodies. His issue splats onto his belly in thick white globs. Still he moves, meeting Kanan’s thrusts with steady rolls of his hips. Encouraged, Kanan picks up the pace, ramming himself as far into Ezra’s clinging warmth as he can go, and climaxes a few seconds later. A feral groan rumbles in his throat before dying to a whimper. He lets the backs of Ezra’s sweaty knees slide from his shoulders and assumes a push-up position over him, giving him breathing room. The muscles in his arms tremble from the staggering power of his orgasm. He feels like a star that has just gone supernova, glow and all.</p><p>He looks down at Ezra panting beneath him, blue eyes barely open and rolling around in a euphoric daze. </p><p>“Whoa. God, Kanan, you… that was amazing.”</p><p>“Y-yeah.” It’s the only word Kanan’s brain can reach at this moment. </p><p>Ezra touches his cheek, concerned. “Hey, you okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. Fine.”</p><p>“You look like you’re about to die.”</p><p>“I think I already have.”</p><p>Ezra chuckles and wraps his arms around Kanan’s neck, pulls him down for a kiss. Kanan almost collapses on top of him but somehow avoids it. He sinks into Ezra’s warm mouth and drinks him, swallows the taste and color of him. They pull apart with a smack and a sweet nuzzle of noses.</p><p>Kanan sits back on his legs and uses a fresh wipe to clean the semen from Ezra’s belly, gazing down at him with a caring, almost fatherly smile. Ezra squeaks at the cool wet feeling and shivers. </p><p>“Nhhh, hurry up! I’m cold,” he whines.</p><p>“Almost done. Remember, you never skip aftercare.”</p><p>Ezra rolls his eyes and smiles.</p><p>When Kanan finishes, Ezra reaches over and pulls a blanket over his bare body, nestling into it until only his face is visible. He watches with interest as Kanan peels off the used condom, neatly ties it off, and disposes of it in the same bag he threw the used hand wipe.</p><p>“So tidy,” says Ezra as Kanan lies down next to him.</p><p>“Old habit. Let me in, you’re not the only one who’s cold.”</p><p>Ezra throws the blanket over Kanan and snuggles up against his side. Kanan slips his arm around him and kisses the top of his head.</p><p>For a long while they lie on their backs in silence, heads together, staring up at the sky. Night insects sing in the grass. A breeze flows through the clearing, playing with their hair and breaking apart against the rocky pillars. They tower against a backdrop of stars, black, blank spaces interrupting the celestial tapestry.</p><p>Ezra plays with Kanan’s hand beneath the blanket, feeling each finger and nail, tracing tendons, drawing imaginary circles around his knuckles. Kanan wonders why he’s so fixated on hands. He tries not to wonder about it too long, otherwise his thoughts turn to unpleasant things in Ezra’s past. Things he doesn’t want to bring anywhere near this peaceful, loving moment.</p><p>“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” Ezra asks in a voice so soft it’s barely audible.</p><p>Kanan blinks. He has to brush the dust off of <em>that </em> one. </p><p>“Fifteen, I think. Or almost sixteen.”</p><p>“Huh. Same age as me.” An awkward pause. “Who was it? I mean… if you don’t mind telling me.”</p><p>Kanan’s mouth twists and stretches as he searches for the right words. “It was a woman. A girl, really. Arkanian smuggler. Nineteen, twenty maybe. At least that’s what she told me. We knew each other, had worked together a couple times. It just… kind of happened.”</p><p>“Did you love her?”</p><p>“No. There was nothing between us really. Just a one night stand. Kind of ashamed of it, actually. I never talked to her afterwards. Only saw her a few more times, then she and her crew left the system. No idea where she is now.”</p><p>“Mm.” Ezra moves up to Kanan’s wrist, stroking his arm hair against the grain and making it stand up. “Who’s Caleb?”</p><p>Kanan’s heart stops. For a moment he panics, trying to recall when he might have let his guard down long enough for Ezra to dredge that name from the muck of his past.</p><p>“How do you know that name?” he asks, his voice sounding too high to his own ears.</p><p>“I heard it in your head a while back. I wasn’t spying or anything, honest. It was just… floating there on top. Only it sounded different. Like, spoken with someone else’s voice.”</p><p>Kanan sighs. He’s really not ready to have this conversation, but he can’t turn Ezra away without at least half an answer.</p><p>“Caleb was someone I used to know.”</p><p>“A boy?”</p><p>Another flash of panic jolts through Kanan. He really hopes Ezra isn’t picking up on it.</p><p>“Why do you ask?”</p><p>“I dunno. I kinda get the feeling it’s a boy. Someone about my age.”</p><p>Kanan swallows and says nothing.</p><p>Ezra looks at him worriedly. “You don’t… have a kid or anything, do you?”</p><p>Fucking stars, Kanan hopes not. “No, no kids. I was always very careful about that.” But accidents do happen.</p><p>Ezra props himself up and looks down at Kanan’s face, into his eyes. “What happened between you and Caleb? You used to be happy. Now the thought of him makes you sad.”</p><p>Kanan turns his head slightly, just enough to not be staring directly into his Padawan’s face. “I really don’t want to talk about this right now, Ezra.”</p><p>Ezra’s eyes soften. “Did he… die?”</p><p>“In a way, yes.”</p><p>“‘In a way’? What does that mean? You’re either dead or not dead. You don’t just ‘sorta’ die. What happened?”</p><p>“He grew up and became someone else. That’s all, okay? The end.”</p><p>“Wait, <em> what</em>? Became someone else? Like, physically or mentally?”</p><p>Kanan grumbles and rubs his face. Sometimes he feels like there’s a cosmic conspiracy taking place and he’s being punished for asking so many questions when he was a youngling. Now the Force has balanced itself by sending him Ezra Bridger, inquirer extraordinaire, relentless badgerer.</p><p>“He grew up and changed and he’s not the same person anymore,” he finally says.</p><p>“You mean, like… he’s a she now? Or he wasn’t a he to begin with?”</p><p>“No, he was always a he.”</p><p>“So he didn’t change physically, he changed mentally.”</p><p>“Yes. Well, he changed physically too, but he—fucking <em>blazes</em>, Ezra, why is this so goddamn important to you right now?”</p><p>Ezra shrinks back. </p><p>Kanan has never used that kind of language in front of him. Or directed at him. Immediately Kanan realizes his error; he sits up and reaches out.</p><p>“Ezra, hey. I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. It was a mistake. I’m sorry, please forgive me.”</p><p>Ezra is still nervous, his mouth pulled to one side. “It’s okay. I guess I <em> was </em>being kind of annoying, huh?”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter. My reaction was unjustified. I’m the Master, I’m supposed to be better than this.” He takes Ezra’s hands in his own and rubs them with his thumbs. His skin is as soft as silk. “This is a really… I don’t like talking about Caleb. He doesn’t exist anymore, so it doesn’t even really matter.”</p><p>Ezra tightens his grip around Kanan’s fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I didn’t know. I won’t bring it up ever again, promise.”</p><p>Kanan bows his head. Guilt sits heavily on his shoulders. He exhales and looks up at Ezra, into his mournful blue eyes. </p><p>“Caleb was me. That was my name, the one I was born with. Caleb Dume.”</p><p>Ezra’s lips part, stunned. “You mean Kanan Jarrus isn’t your real name?”</p><p>“It <em> is </em> my real name. Now. I <em> am </em>Kanan Jarrus. Caleb Dume is who I used to be, a Jedi Padawan, raised in the Temple, apprentice to Master Depa Billaba. I had to leave that identity behind after Order 66. It wasn’t safe for me.”</p><p>“Oh.” Pause. “And you were on your own after that? On the streets?”</p><p>Kanan continues to stroke Ezra’s hands with his thumbs. “Yes.”</p><p>Ezra is quiet for a while. “How old were you?”</p><p>“Around fourteen. I never really knew the date of my birth.”</p><p>Ezra stares at Kanan for a long time, searching his eyes. “We really <em> are </em> alike, aren’t we?”</p><p>“So alike it scares me to death,” Kanan confesses in a gravelly voice.</p><p>“What’s there to be scared about? You turned out alright.”</p><p>“I’m a mess, Ezra. You have no idea.”</p><p>“So what? I’m a mess, too. See, we’re perfect for each other.” Ezra twists his hands so he can weave his fingers together with Kanan’s. <em> Defiance. Determination. Daring. </em> Smoky shades of blue and gray and yellow. </p><p>Kanan smiles—not at the situation, no, it’s still as karked up as ever, but at his Padawan’s loyalty. At his courage, his dedication, his optimism. How anyone can be optimistic after a life like the one Ezra has lived boggles Kanan’s mind. Then again, he supposes the same could be said for himself.</p><p>“Yeah. I guess we are.”</p><p>After a few moments Ezra unlatches his hands and climbs onto Kanan’s lap. “Wanna do it again,” he says softly. It’s not a question. It’s a request.</p><p>The very idea has Kanan hardening. “You’re going to be sore in the morning,” he warns, but he’s already reaching for another condom.</p><p>Ezra shrugs. “It’ll be worth it. Besides, I wanna try a different position this time.”</p><p>“What, you didn’t like the first one?”</p><p>“It was fine. I just wanna try something new.”</p><p>An adventurer in bed. This could get interesting. Kanan opens the packet and squints at the condom in the moonlight, trying to see which side is in or out. </p><p>“Can I put it on you?” Ezra asks.</p><p>“Yeah, sure.” He passes the condom to Ezra, who scoots down and pulls the blanket aside. “Figure out which way it unrolls first. Got it? Okay, hold it like this and pinch the tip. The <em> whole </em>tip, like—yeah. That’s it. Now put it on the end and just roll it down. Nh. Yeah, perfect. Thank you.”</p><p>Ezra sits back with a proud smile.</p><p>Stars, Kanan really would die for him. He reaches out and cups Ezra’s cheek. “What position do you want to try, honey?”</p><p>“Hm, I was thinking maybe… on my hands and knees?”</p><p>That just happens to be Kanan’s favorite position—both giving and receiving. “Okay, sounds good.”</p><p>He rises to his knees while Ezra gets down on all fours and turns around, presenting his backside. Kanan takes Ezra’s hips in his hands and rubs the warm copper skin appreciatively. Only the faintest hint of a bruise remains from his speeder bike crash two weeks ago. </p><p>“I think you’ll like this a lot. The angle is different and it’s… well, you’ll see.” </p><p>Ezra needs no preparation; he’s still slick from earlier. Kanan lines himself up and slides in.</p><p>Ezra clenches the blankets and sinks down onto his elbows. “Oh. Ohhh whoa. Wow.”</p><p>“Good?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>. Kriff.” A gasp. “Oh God, do that again. Same place.”</p><p>Kanan drags out slowly and pushes in fast, sheathing himself completely inside Ezra. </p><p>Ezra swears again and clenches up. Every nerve ending in Kanan’s cock sparks with pleasure. Ezra is snug and hot, a perfect fit. And at this angle his prostate is likely getting stimulated with every thrust. Best of both worlds.</p><p>“I was <em> just </em>thinking that.” </p><p>Kanan can hear the laughter in Ezra’s breathless voice. He shuts his eyes, leans over and plants a kiss between Ezra’s shoulder blades, then reaches underneath and places his hand on Ezra’s lower belly, right where his pubic hair starts.</p><p>
  <em> I love you, Ezra. More than anything or anyone I have ever loved in my life. You are all I want. You are all I need. </em>
</p><p>“Kanan…” Ezra whimpers and presses back against him, pushing him deeper. </p><p>Kanan understands. He can feel Ezra’s need as acutely as if it were his own—and maybe it is. He begins to move. </p><p>Ezra stretches like a cat and moans, rocks with Kanan’s steady thrusts.</p><p>Above them the moons glow in the deep velvet-black sky.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Break me down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kanan’s love and wisdom help Ezra find the strength he needs... and he's going to need a lot of it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Senator Trayvis’s treachery still sits heavy with the <em>Ghost</em> crew. His broadcasts are openly hostile toward rebels now, condemning them as “guerrillas” and “violent criminals” who are destroying the peace the Empire is trying to bring to the galaxy. And he has an especially powerful hatred for the Spectres, who have thwarted him once already.</p><p>All six of them are gathered around the holoprojector in the common area, glaring at the footage of Gall Trayvis and his Imperial interviewer.</p><p>“<em>Senator Trayvis, now that you’ve recommitted yourself to the Empire, will your followers do the same?</em>”</p><p>“<em>Most will, Alton. These were good people who simply wanted to make the Empire a better place, peacefully. But I’m afraid these </em> insurgents”—an image of the crew from Imperial surveillance footage flashes up on screen—“<em>have twisted my message into something violent and frightening</em>.”</p><p>“I’ll show you something violent and frightening,” Zeb growls under his breath and cracks his knuckles.</p><p>Kanan and Ezra are sitting side by side in the booth, maybe a little closer than they should, but either nobody notices or nobody cares. The broadcast has everyone’s full attention. Kanan’s arm is draped over the seat, and every now and then he rubs his thumb on the back of Ezra’s head, a soothing and unseen gesture.</p><p>Ezra could certainly use some soothing right now. He’s slouched down like a delinquent in a juvenile detention center, arms crossed, a perfectly disgusted scowl on his face. Misty fingers of dissatisfaction leak out through their connection. Kanan radiates as much calm and serenity as he can, hoping that perhaps his proximity will be enough to mitigate Ezra’s increasing anger.</p><p>“<em>Violence solves nothing</em>,” Trayvis continues, “<em>so I’m personally offering a reward for the capture of these dangerous criminals. I encourage any citizen who sees them to report them immediately to authorities. Do not approach or attempt to apprehend them. They are extremely hostile, a threat to life and liberty. Even the children are armed and considered a threat.</em>”</p><p>Hera turns off the interview with a sharp stab of a button.</p><p>“<em>Children</em>,” Sabine snorts. “Can you believe this guy? What a lying piece of <em> shab</em>.”</p><p>“If I had the equipment,” Ezra mutters, “I’d be warkitting the nearest Imperial comm tower and blasting that two-faced scumbag right off the airwaves.”</p><p>All heads slowly turn to him, even Kanan’s.</p><p>“Wer—worketing?” Zeb echoes.</p><p>“Warkitting.” Ezra sits up and carefully enunciates each syllable. “Wardriving and rootkitting rolled into one. My parents used to do it. Drive around scanning for Imperial comm frequencies and then jam them. Sometimes they’d sabotage the transmitters if they could reach them, plant a data spike or scrambling chip, whatever they had. Then they could hijack the channels with their own broadcasts anywhere, anytime. Or, y’know… plant a virus and totally demo the entire array. For a little while anyway. The Empire would always get the network up and running after a day or two, but it was nice to walk through the city without getting your ears blasted by Imperial propaganda. Mom and Dad would take me with them when they went wardriving sometimes. It was fun.”</p><p>Hera, Kanan, Sabine, Zeb and even Chopper stare in utter silence.</p><p>Ezra looks around the table, smile fading. “What?”</p><p>Hera and Kanan glance at one another, then back at the pirate broadcast expert in their midst.</p><p>“Ezra,” says Hera carefully, “what if we were able to get you that equipment?”</p><p>Ezra locks his hands behind his head and tilts his chin up, thinking. “Well… you could broadcast whatever you want. A/V, data, single-line audio like music or talk, anything, just as long as the kitted frequency is compatible with your transmission format. Like, you can’t jack an audio signal and try to broadcast A/V. That’s two totally different wavelengths. You’ll only get the audio. And data is strictly data, no way to kit around it. But A/V is backwards compatible with single-line audio and imaging, so that would work. You just gotta make sure you use the right tunneling procedure when you’re kitting the transmitter.”</p><p>Chopper chirps an affirmative. No one else says a word.</p><p>“Okay,” says Zeb, “I didn’t understand a <em> single thing </em>the kid just said, so could somebody please translate?”</p><p>“Basically,” Sabine says, “you need to keep the broadcast formats the same. Round peg, round hole.”</p><p>Zeb glares at his bunkmate. “See, that’s all you had to say.”</p><p>Ezra grins smugly.</p><p>“How hard would it be to get the equipment?” asks Hera.</p><p>“Not too hard,” says Ezra. “Parts are cheap, easy to find. I could build a basic transmitter using just stuff in this ship, but I’d probably have to gut Chopper for hardware, and I don’t think he’d like that.”</p><p>The droid grumbles a vague threat.</p><p>“And what would you need to do a rootkit?”</p><p>Ezra shrugs. “A spike with the kit installed on it. A remote transmitter. A datapad. That’s it.”</p><p>“Then let’s do it.” This is the first time Kanan has said anything since he sat down, and everyone gives him their undivided attention. However, he’s looking only at Ezra. “Let’s send a message. If Trayvis can do it, so can we.”</p><p>Ezra cocks an eyebrow at him. “You wanna warkit an Imperial communications tower and use it to send a message to the people of Lothal?”</p><p>“Not just Lothal.” Kanan looks out across the table at the faces of his crewmates. “One of the big towers. They can reach a few systems.”</p><p>Ezra scoffs and starts shaking his head. “My parents did some pretty crazy stuff, Kanan, but they never hijacked one of the big towers. It would attract too much attention. Besides, security was always too tight. You would need—”</p><p>“A small task force armed with bombs and blasters?” Sabine interrupts with a grin.</p><p>“A big pissed-off Lasat?” Zeb says.</p><p>“A couple Jedi with lightsabers?” Kanan adds.</p><p>“And a getaway ship for a quick pickup?” Hera finishes.</p><p>Ezra gazes around at his friends, his new family, and laughs out loud. “You’re all insane. This is an <em> insane</em> idea.”</p><p>Kanan bumps his shoulder. “That’s why you like it.”</p><p>Ezra continues to shake his head, but the incredulous look on his face is fading. There’s a spark in his eyes now, the beginnings of a plan. He’s already working everything out in his mind.</p><p>“What would we say in this message?” he finally asks.</p><p>“Something the Empire never says,” answers Kanan. “The truth.”</p><p>Chopper warbles.</p><p>“We have to let people know what it’s really like out here. What we’re doing, why we’re doing it. All they’ve ever heard is what Trayvis has been feeding them. It’s time they heard from the <em>real </em>rebels.”</p><p>Every head nods except Ezra’s.</p><p>Kanan gives him a nudge to bring him out of his thoughts. “What do you say? Want to give it a shot?”</p><p>After a long pause, Ezra pulls on a smile. “Yeah, count me in.”</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>That night, once Zeb begins to snore, Ezra climbs out of his bunk and tiptoes from the cabin. Kanan’s door is just a few steps down the passageway. The doors slide open when he presses the button and close behind him with a whisper of air.</p><p>Kanan is lying in his bunk, shirtless and hair loose, still awake. He sits up and gives Ezra a smile.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>Ezra beams breathlessly. “Hey.” He scampers over to the bunk and throws his leg over Kanan’s body, seats himself squarely on his hips. Kanan pulls him down for a kiss.</p><p>The foreplay lasts as long as they can bear it. Kanan strips Ezra of his tank top and shorts, but Ezra, impatient, only pushes Kanan’s pajama pants down around his thighs. Just enough to get at what he wants.</p><p>Kanan bites back his groans as Ezra sucks him, fondles him, and brings him to the edge several times. When he finally finishes his teasing, he rolls the condom on Kanan, holds him in place, and sinks down onto his lap.</p><p>A squeak of discomfort escapes him. Kanan rubs his hips and tells him to slow down, relax, this isn’t supposed to hurt. Ezra nods and rises up, adjusts his angle, and sits down again. The pinched look on his face disappears. He loosens up and sighs. Then he begins to ride.</p><p>It’s good. A little awkward and new, but Ezra learns that if he leans back a little, his prostate gets stimulated with each penetration. Kanan lets him experiment at his leisure. Truthfully, he kind of likes it when Ezra takes charge of his own pleasure. Eventually the boy’s legs start to tremble from the exertion and Kanan rolls him onto his back. Ezra lets out a breath, grateful for the break.</p><p>Kanan pulls out and goes down on him. He pushes three fingers inside him and takes him into his mouth, and soon they find a new rhythm. Ezra pants and holds Kanan’s head in both hands, knees bent and legs spread wide. He comes with a burst of color and a thrust of his pelvis. Kanan swallows and pulls off and wipes his mouth clean. Then, while Ezra is still trying to catch his breath, Kanan grasps himself—still hard, the condom still in place—and reenters him.</p><p>He makes love to Ezra as quietly as he can, hips rolling smoothly while Ezra stifles his moans and clings to him in spite of the heat and sweat. Their kisses are molten and powerful. The Force thrums inside them both like a shared thunderstorm. Kanan wraps his hand around him and strokes in time with his movements. They meet each other’s eyes and stare, letting the Force and all that it carries flow between them like waves lapping a shoreline. Soon they move at the same tempo as their energies, slow and steady, strong but gentle. </p><p>If Kanan concentrates hard enough, he can feel what Ezra feels. Ezra burns so much brighter than him. Maybe it’s because he’s younger, everything still so raw and new. Kanan’s life has always been marked by control and temperance. From his earliest days there was structure, discipline, rules. Ezra is everything he is not. Maybe that’s why Kanan finds him so irresistible.</p><p>“Feel me, Ezra,” he whispers. He is planted deeply, all the way in, grinding himself into Ezra’s sweet spot. “I’m yours.”</p><p>When Ezra comes the second time, it’s with a ferocious outpouring of energy. He grips Kanan hard, digging his fingers into his hair and sinking his teeth into the meat of his shoulder to muffle his scream. The pain is just sharp and sweet enough to push Kanan over the edge; he climaxes, and for a few moments his body is almost paralyzed as his muscles go rigid as durasteel. Finally he goes lax. He lays himself down on Ezra and waits for his senses to return.</p><p>“I can feel you change right before,” says Ezra afterward, Kanan’s head resting on his chest as he combs through his messy hair. “You swell up and there’s a color, I don’t even know what to call it, but I feel it. The color, I mean. It’s nice.”</p><p>“How do <em> you</em> feel?”</p><p>“Good. Really good. You?”</p><p>Kanan smiles and answers Ezra with a squeeze. Ezra chuckles under his breath.</p><p>They say nothing for a while. They stare into the dark, thinking their thoughts, sometimes sharing them, and enjoy the warmth of each other’s naked bodies.</p><p>“What are you gonna do when this is all over?” Ezra asks after a few minutes. “I mean, when the Empire’s gone and we don’t have to fight anymore.”</p><p>Kanan blinks. He’s never asked himself that question before. He has been fighting—or training to fight, or wishing he was fighting—all his life. He never imagined how he would function in a time of peace, what he would do, who would be in his life. If all his wishes come true and the Empire is defeated and peace is finally brought to the galaxy, what will happen to Spectre Crew? They would all go their separate ways, certainly. Their purpose will have been fulfilled and the galaxy will no longer need them. Sabine has family on Mandalore. Hera has her ship and her career as a pilot. Chopper will go wherever she goes. Zeb… Kanan doesn’t know about him. And Kanan isn’t sure he wants to know what Ezra’s plans are. Especially if he isn’t in them.</p><p><em> Fuck, I’m selfish</em>, he thinks bitterly.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he says at last. “Maybe search for more Jedi. Or Padawans. Surely there are more of us who survived Order 66. And if there aren’t, well… I’ll find something. I always do.”</p><p>Ezra hums and continues to play with Kanan’s hair. “Do Jedi ever, like… get married and have kids?”</p><p>Something that feels an awful lot like longing settles in Kanan’s heart. And he’s pretty sure it’s coming from Ezra.</p><p>“No. Not in the days of the Republic. It was forbidden.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Kanan ruminates for several moments, choosing his words carefully. “Because an oath made in love is stronger than an oath made for duty. The moment a Jedi chooses love, chooses to attach himself to someone for the rest of his life, he has chosen a different path. And one cannot walk two paths at the same time, just like one cannot serve two masters at the same time. You’ll end up loving one and resenting the other. That’s what we were taught, anyway. It also prevents clans from forming within the Order. Keeps us unified, loyal to each other instead of our partners and families.”</p><p>Ezra says nothing. Kanan notices his heart is beating a little faster now.</p><p>“You should form a new Jedi order, Kanan.”</p><p>Kanan stares into the shadows on the other side of his cabin. “I don’t want that responsibility. And I’m not up to the task.”</p><p>“Why not? You’re good. And you’re the last of the Jedi. If not you, who else?” Ezra shifts beneath him. “I could… y’know, help you. We could get a ship of our own and travel the galaxy, see other worlds… help people, be heroes.”</p><p>There’s something buried in his words. Kanan can feel it. A yearning for something permanent. A promise. A vow.</p><p>Kanan closes his eyes. “It’s a big decision. I’ll have to think about it. So should you.”</p><p>“Okay.” Ezra runs his nails across Kanan’s scalp in a way that makes Kanan shiver with pleasure. “Just as long as I’m with you.”</p><p>Kanan lifts his head and meets Ezra’s eyes. </p><p>“Kiss me,” Ezra whispers.</p><p>Kanan does.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>The next day, Kanan, Sabine and Ezra mount their speeder bikes and, armed with a datapad for signal scanning, go wardriving across Lothal. Kanan can feel Ezra’s joy glowing through their bond. He looks happier now than Kanan remembers ever seeing him. Smiling, laughing. Hair blowing in the wind, eyes bright, optimistic. Part of it’s the nostalgia, he’s sure, doing with his new family what he used to do with his parents. The rest of it must be being back home, no longer alone, full of hope and plans for the future. His whole life in front of him.</p><p>Kanan prays that Ephraim and Mira Bridger are still alive. That he and Hera will be able to find the prison where they’ve been incarcerated. That someday Ezra will be reunited with them, even if it means Kanan getting the everloving Force beaten out of him by a very angry father. Or mother.</p><p>He gazes over the handlebars at Ezra and Sabine gleefully racing each other, their whooping laughter and sing-song challenges coming in snatches between the rush of air and the rev of repulsorlift engines.</p><p><em> I’m sorry, Ephraim. Mira</em>, Kanan thinks. <em>I tried my best. It could have been a lot worse, but it also could have been better. </em> I<em> could have been better, and I wasn’t. I love your son. That is my crime and my salvation. I will continue to take care of him as best as I can, as you would have done… and hope that someday, if we ever meet, you’ll forgive me. </em></p><p>You know, sneers that dark, wormy voice inside him, if the Bridgers had been more concerned about raising their son, none of this would have happened. If they had chosen to be parents instead of outspoken political miscreants, they wouldn’t have been arrested and sent to prison. They wouldn’t have left their seven-year-old son to fend for himself on the streets, to be preyed upon by sick people. This is all their fault. They failed him when they chose their cause over their child.</p><p><em> No. No, it isn’t. And in any case, it doesn’t matter now. Assigning blame for past faults does absolutely nothing. Let it go. Focus on the present. That’s more important than pointing fingers</em>.</p><p>It’s the truth and you know it.</p><p>
  <em> Shut up. </em>
</p><p>Kanan lets the wind sweep his anger and regret into the wake behind him. He guns his engine and pulls out ahead of Ezra and Sabine. The two teens yell in challenge and speed after him.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>They decide on the big communications tower just outside Capital City. Not only is Ezra familiar with the locations and frequencies of the stations in this area, but this particular tower routes comm from every Imperial operation on Lothal, including the Empire’s holonet broadcasts. The plan is to get past security, sabotage the transmitter with a rootkitted data spike, retreat, and broadcast a message to the entire system.</p><p>Their reconnaissance mission is almost sabotaged when a roving Imperial probe shows up, but Ezra reaches out with the Force and connects with a nearby loth-cat, compelling the feline to attack the probe and disable it. They slip onto their bikes and speed away, unaware that the probe’s flickering eye is fixed on their retreating backs.</p><p>They return to the <em>Ghost</em> and flesh out their plan. Zeb returns with an old transmitter he picked up at a scrap shop, and Hera offers up her inventory of spare parts and tools. Ezra pops the side panel off the transmitter and gets to work. Sabine and Chopper sit at the table with him and help. </p><p>Kanan strides in just as they’re putting the panel back on. “How we doing?”</p><p>“Good,” says Sabine. “Chopper has the spike with the rootkit installed on it. The plan is we get him into the tower, then he can upload the kit right into the computer core.”</p><p>“What kind of a window are we looking at?”</p><p>“As long as the tower is transmitting, we’re good to go. Everyone will hear what we say. Well, anyone who’s listening.”</p><p>Kanan nods. Then he raises his eyes to Hera. “And our extraction?”</p><p>“Once you guys get the spike uploaded, just signal me and I’ll spirit you away in the <em> Phantom</em>.”</p><p>Kanan chuckles. “Spirit, that’s a good one.”</p><p>“It’ll be the name of our next starfighter.”</p><p>“Isn’t it bad luck to name the baby before it’s born?”</p><p>“You’re thinking of flying a ship before it’s been named.”</p><p>“I always thought it was seeing the bride before the wedding,” says Sabine.</p><p>“You people have some strange superstitions,” Zeb mutters.</p><p>Chopper adds his commentary and elicits a round of laughter out of everyone.</p><p>Everyone except Ezra, who hasn’t said a single word. Kanan picked up on his gray mood the minute he walked into the lounge, but the light humor of the moment makes his feelings seem even more shadowy.</p><p>“How you doing, DJ Bridger?” he asks softly.</p><p>Everyone stops laughing and turns to Ezra, who fidgets and keeps his gaze locked on the transmitter in front of him.</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>Hera and Kanan meet each other’s eyes.</p><p>Kanan tilts his head. “Let’s take a walk.”</p><p>Ezra doesn’t move for a few seconds. Then he pulls himself out of his seat and trudges ahead of Kanan like a prisoner shuffling on his way to the gallows.</p><p>It’s a beautiful evening on Lothal. Ezra stands on the loading ramp and stares out at the purple sky and rolling hills of golden grass, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Kanan comes to stand beside him. He doesn’t know how much Ezra is blocking him, but he can tell just by the stiff posture and tight mouth that he’s in turmoil.</p><p>“Hey. What’s on your mind?”</p><p>The answer comes snappily and without hesitation: “I’m not sure we should go through with this.”</p><p>Kanan blinks, bewildered. “You were so excited earlier. Now you’re suddenly backing out? What changed?”</p><p>“I had time to think about it.”</p><p>Time to think twice about it. Kanan knows this very well. It’s one of his own worst sins, overthinking.</p><p>“You’ve just got cold feet. The time leading up to a mission is always worse than the mission itself. You know this. You’re a veteran now.”</p><p>“This is different. This is serious. If we go through with this, it’s gonna turn a lot of heads.”</p><p>“That’s the point, isn’t it?”</p><p>Ezra makes a frustrated noise. “Look, as much as I wish I was like my parents, I’m <em> not</em>, okay? I don’t have what they have. I never did. I can’t do this, Kanan, I’m sorry.” He stalks down the ramp, boots ringing on the metal.</p><p>Kanan stares. Ezra is definitely blocking him, but not so completely that he doesn’t pick up on the minute currents of grief and sorrow flowing beneath the mask of anger he’s putting on.</p><p>“There’s something else.”</p><p>Ezra stands with his back to Kanan for a minute. Then he sighs and turns around, his eyebrows bent upward and his forehead wrinkled. The light of the sunset catches the gleam of his eyes.</p><p>“My parents spoke out against the Empire and I <em> lost them</em>.” His voice is scratchy, his throat tight. “And I don’t—I don’t wanna lose you too, okay? Any of you. Not over this.” </p><p>Kanan steps down to join him. “Hey. All of us have lost things, and we’re going to take more losses before this is over. But we can’t let that stop us from taking risks. We have to keep moving forward.” </p><p>He puts his hand on Ezra’s shoulder.</p><p>“When the time comes, we have to be ready to make sacrifices. That’s what it means to be a rebel. That’s what it means to be a Jedi. We can’t be afraid of loss. If we let our fears dominate us, we’ll never grow. We’ll never win.”</p><p>Ezra bows his head, ashamed. Kanan puts his knuckle under his chin and lifts it up, makes Ezra look at him.</p><p>“It’s times like these, when we’re scared and full of doubt, that we have to stay true to our path. To ourselves. We have to learn to let go of everything we fear to lose. We’re fighting for something so much bigger than you or me, Ezra, but I’m telling you it’s worth it. We have to be that spark that ignites the flame—the flame that turns into a fire, that turns into a blaze, that burns out the darkness and lights up the entire galaxy. That’s the only way things are ever going to change. But it all begins with a spark.”</p><p>Ezra blinks and turns to stare out across the landscape. “That sounds real inspirational and uplifting and all, but it’s not that easy.”</p><p>Kanan sighs. “I know. It’s not easy for me, either. My Master tried to teach me, but I don’t think I ever understood it until now, trying to teach it to you.”</p><p>Ezra looks at Kanan with his shining blue eyes. He opens himself up then, and Kanan is washed in a torrent of emotion: love, longing, fear, affection, worry, thankfulness. But rather than drowning or crushing him, it flows around him and buoys him up, lets him feel its colors without suffocating him. Just as he has been trying to teach Ezra all this time.</p><p>He releases a startled breath and smiles on the intake, reaching out to touch Ezra’s cheek. He can feel Ezra all around him… and something else. Something familiar, like a family heirloom bobbing along in the waters of an unknown river. A piece of himself. His fragment of Force from the syndis loop, the part of him that is now part of Ezra forever.</p><p>“I guess you and I are learning these things together.”</p><p>Ezra reaches up and grasps Kanan’s hand, presses it to his cheek like it’s the only thing that can save him.</p><p>Kanan pulls him into a hug and kisses the top of Ezra’s head. Ezra wraps his arms around him and holds him tightly. </p><p>“I had another vision,” he whispers into the front of Kanan’s shirt. “This morning, just before I woke up. Maybe it was a dream, I dunno. But I dreamed I lost you. I was searching for you, floating in space. I was alone, nothing but stars all around me. I was calling your name, but I couldn’t make a sound. I screamed and screamed for you, but you were just… you were <em> gone</em>. I couldn’t feel you anymore, your Force, <em> anything</em>. It was like we never bonded. I felt so empty. Empty as… as the nothingness around me.”</p><p>A shiver courses through Kanan, causing his scalp to rise and every hair to stand on end. He swallows thickly and strokes Ezra’s hair.</p><p>He won’t tell him. Not now. It would only add to his stress.</p><p>“Someday I <em> will</em> be gone, Ezra. Hopefully before you. We can’t stop these things. Death, loss, change. We have to move on. And I know you’ll move on because you’re strong. You’re a survivor, and you know how much I love you. There’s a part of me inside you that will never die. As long as you live, I’m going to be with you, no matter what dreams or visions may come. I’ll be with you.” He lays his hand at the base of Ezra’s throat. “Right here, Ezra. I know you can feel me because I can feel me in you, right now, and you’re all around me. Like water.”</p><p>Ezra rolls his lips inward as his eyes fill with tears.</p><p>“No matter what happens to me—or to Hera, or Sabine or Zeb or Chopper—you <em> keep going</em>, Ezra. You keep doing what’s right. Remember what I taught you. Hold on to it. Never let go. Can you promise me you’ll do that?”</p><p>He nods. “Yes, Master.”</p><p>Kanan pulls Ezra’s head to his chest once more and closes his eyes.</p><p>Across the rolling plains of Lothal, dusk falls.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>Of course it all goes wrong. Nothing ever goes according to plan for the Spectres, and getting caught on camera by that Imperial probe droid earlier that day was definitely not part of their plan.</p><p>Incoming reinforcements are detected moments after Chopper inserts the data spike. Everything descends into chaos. The three-minute window they were given shrinks to one. They’re pinned down in a communications tower with no long-range weapons, no surrounding cover, and only one escape route. Kanan dashes to the lift to collect Ezra and Zeb from outside before they end up cannon fodder.</p><p>Two troop transports and three gunships arrive within the perimeter just as Sabine and Chopper finish uploading the data spike. They relay their status to Kanan, who is waiting at the ground entrance of the tower.</p><p>“<em>We’ll meet you down front</em>,” says Sabine.</p><p>“No!” Kanan barks into his comm. “Stay put. New plan’s in motion. I’m sending Zeb and Ezra up to you. Sit tight.”</p><p>Ezra’s speeder bike slams to a halt a few meters away. He and Zeb hop off and race to the entrance. Searchlights splash up and down the tower’s exterior. Laserbolts slice through the air. The gunships thunder directly overhead. </p><p>They are out of time.</p><p>Kanan ushers Ezra and Zeb into the building. “Take the lift,” he tells them. “Hera will meet you at the top.”</p><p>Ezra starts to run, then stops in his tracks. “Wait, what about you?”</p><p>“I’ll take the next one.” </p><p>Zeb’s giant hand lands on Ezra’s shoulder and pushes him hard. “Let’s go!” he snarls.</p><p>Ezra has no choice but to move. </p><p>Kanan ignites his lightsaber and takes a deep breath. “Ezra.”</p><p>Ezra stops in the corridor and looks back, all eyes.</p><p>There is so much Kanan wants to say. I’m sorry. I love you. Be strong. Thank you. Everything will be okay. But all he says—and it’s either a thoughtless coincidence or simply the Force coming full circle—is, “I’ll be right behind you.”</p><p>It’s a terrible lie. Ezra sees right through it. And Kanan sees that Ezra sees right through it. More than that, he can feel it through their bond.</p><p>Ezra’s eyes shine in the shadows. “Kanan, no.”</p><p>Kanan punches the control panel. The doors slide shut.</p><p>A wave of color hits him. Black, purple, green, brown. The color of bruises. Agony. Heartbreak.</p><p class="grad">
  <em>
    <b>KANAN, NO.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>The howl echoes through every cell in his body, resonates in the very marrow of his bones.</p><p>Kanan plunges his lightsaber into the panel. A hail of sparks explode as it short-circuits.</p><p>Then he turns and faces his foes.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>The Spectres return to camp short one crew member and running on pure adrenaline. Hera docks the <em> Phantom </em> and slips down through the hatch, runs to the cockpit with Chopper bleating on her heels, and powers up the <em> Ghost’s </em> engines. </p><p>“Moving to LSC 2 in five minutes,” she announces over the intercom. “I don’t know how well a signal will carry from a moving transmitter, so if you’re going to send a message, Ezra, do it now.”</p><p>Ezra slides numbly down the ladder and makes his way to the common area. There is no expression on his face. His skin is pale and sweaty, his eyes still fixed on a point somewhere in the recent past.</p><p>Sabine is already turning on the transmitter and tuning to the kitted frequency when he arrives. She lifts her head as Ezra enters the lounge.</p><p>“Ezra.”</p><p>He looks at her but doesn’t see her.</p><p>“<em>Ezra</em>.”</p><p>He blinks and returns to himself. His eyes focus on her.</p><p>She holds out the mic paddle. “Can you do this?”</p><p>His mouth opens and his jaw works mutely for a moment before he finally crackles, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”</p><p>She passes him the mic and moves aside. Ezra slides into the booth and stares at the glowing red light. <em> Ready to transmit. </em></p><p>Suddenly he’s six years old again, at home with his parents. His mother holds him on her lap while his father speaks into the radio. It must be nighttime because he’s sleepy. He plays with Mama’s hands and stares at the red light on the <em> trans-mitt-er</em>. It’s warm and bright, like the love he feels from his parents. Daddy reads from a datapad but regularly lifts his head and adds new thoughts. His voice is strong and calm. He never stutters, never mispronounces a word. He sounds wise, like one of the prophets. Ezra doesn’t understand everything that he’s saying, but he knows he will someday. Occasionally Daddy looks over at him and Mama and smiles as he talks. Ezra feels how happy Mama is when he does that. She really loves Daddy. He falls asleep staring at the red light. He always tries to stay awake until it goes out, but he never manages to keep his eyes open that long.</p><p>He remembers when the Empire came. Pounding on the door. Raised voices demanding they come out, that they were under arrest. Mama and Daddy flying around the house, whispering frantically to one another and packing the small yellow backpack that Ezra used for school before he stopped going to school. The door blasts open. Stormtroopers pour in. They find the transmitter and smash it to pieces. Ezra watches from his hiding place as the red light pops under a shiny white boot. <em>They killed it. </em> Mama and Daddy are forced to their knees at blasterpoint and put in restraints. They are dragged out into the night, and the house goes silent.</p><p>Ezra comes back to the present. Zeb has taken a seat by Sabine and they sit slumped, defeated. Their hearts are heavy. They need words of encouragement.</p><p>Tears are suddenly burning in Ezra’s eyes. </p><p>
  <em> I wish Dad was here. He would know exactly what to say, and he would say it so much better than me. I’ll never be like him. I can’t do this. </em>
</p><p>And then Kanan’s voice speaks to him:</p><p><em>It’s times like these, when we’re scared and full of doubt, that we have to stay true to our path. To ourselves. No matter what happens to me—or to Hera, or Sabine or Zeb or Chopper—you </em> keep going<em>, Ezra. You keep doing what’s right. </em></p><p>Red light on. Ready to transmit.</p><p>Ezra licks his lips and presses the button on the mic.</p><p>“This is a message for the people of Lothal,” he begins in a shaky voice. “And for anyone who still cares about freedom. <em> Real </em>freedom. Not this… lie we’ve been sold by the Empire. You’ve been told enough lies for the last fifteen years. It’s time you heard the truth.”</p><p>Zeb and Sabine raise their heads. Up in the cockpit, Hera and Chopper listen quietly.</p><p>“We have been called criminals, but we are not. We are rebels, fighting for the people. Fighting for <em> you</em>.” Ezra’s voice gains strength. He sits up a little taller. “I’m not that old, but I remember a time when things were better on Lothal. Maybe not great, but never like this. See what the Empire has done to your lives? Your families? Your freedom? It’s only gonna get worse unless we stand up and fight back. It won’t be easy. There will be loss”—his voice cracks; he has to pause for a moment, take a breath, swallow his emotions—“and sacrifice, but we can’t back down just because we’re afraid. That’s when we need to stand the tallest. That’s what my parents taught me. That’s what my… my new family helped me remember.”</p><p>He looks over at Sabine and Zeb. On the deck above, Hera presses her smiling lips together tightly and blinks back her tears.</p><p>“Stand up together,” says Ezra. “Because that’s when we’re strongest.” He rests his hand on the base of his throat. “As one.”</p><p>A burst of static. The transmission has been terminated. <em> They killed it. </em></p><p>Ezra sets down the mic, folds his hands together and leans his forehead against them. Static hisses in the room. </p><p>Hera takes hold of the controls and the <em> Ghost </em>lifts off.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. (Moodboard)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I guess you and I are learning these things together.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. All my agony</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kanan resigns himself to torture and death, but Ezra refuses to give up on him.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kanan had known it was going to get bad when the Inquisitor showed up. He was right, of course.</p><p>He held his own, kept the Pau’an distracted long enough for Zeb and the kids to get to safety, and even managed to land a few good strikes. Then the Inquisitor Force-slammed him into the tower, knocked his lightsaber from his hand, and the fight was over. </p><p>Now, on his knees with six blaster rifles pointed at him, Kanan watches the <em> Phantom </em>disappear into the clouds and comforts himself with the knowledge that at least the others got away. They’ll be fine. Hera will take care of them. She’s good at that.</p><p>The Inquisitor also turns his eyes to the sky. “Pity your Padawan couldn’t join us. I had hoped to detain the both of you.”</p><p>Kanan wants to retort, but he knows his mouth will only get him in trouble. He clenches his teeth and remains quiet. A red lightsaber appears at the end of his nose, humming ominously.</p><p>“No matter. We’ll find him soon enough. Then Master and Apprentice will be reunited. Won’t that be lovely?”</p><p>With his face bathed in crimson light, Kanan glares up at the Inquisitor. <em> Fuck you</em>, he projects as loudly as he can.</p><p>The Inquisitor smiles. “Neutralize him,” he says, and the stormtroopers move in. </p><p>Kanan bows his head. He knows it will be useless, that it will only get him hurt. But it’s also about sending a message. Kind of like what Ezra will be doing in a few minutes. Hopefully.</p><p>When the first stormtrooper grabs his arm, Kanan Force-punches him under the chin hard enough to send his helmet sailing into the air. He wrestles the rifle from the trooper’s arm just as three of his squad pile onto him. He summons the Force again to throw them off. Three more run up to take their place. Kanan shoots one in the throat—he goes down with a bloody gurgle—and surprises the second with a well-aimed blast between the shoulder and the chest plate. Not that it really matters. The third one catches him in the temple with a rifle butt, and Kanan drops to the ground clinging to consciousness.</p><p>The Inquisitor watches it all with a bored expression. “<em>Today</em>, gentlemen, if you please.”</p><p>A stormtrooper plants his knee into Kanan’s back and pins him down with more force than is necessary. A pair of modified stun cuffs are snapped onto Kanan’s wrists. Tiny hypodermic needles pop out along their inner circumferences and pierce his skin. He flinches at the initial sting, then a cocktail of neural-disrupting sedatives begins to circulate through his veins. The world around him slants sideways.</p><p>He is dragged onto his knees to await the arrival of Governor Tarkin’s gunship. The Inquisitor opens his hand and Kanan’s lightsaber flies into it. He turns it over and examines it.</p><p>“Hm. Plain. Though nicely balanced.” </p><p>Through his reeling vision, Kanan watches him take a few practice swipes. </p><p>“I notice the boy also carries a lightsaber now. Tell me, did he earn it, or is it merely a toy to him?”</p><p>Kanan shuts his mouth, his eyes, and his mind. A wall rises up around him, invisible and undetectable to all but those who can feel the Force.</p><p>The Inquisitor chuckles. “I’m afraid that won’t help you. I have developed a very effective method of extracting information from stubborn Jedi, even failed Padawans such as yourself. Soon you will be telling me everything I want to know—and perhaps a little more.” </p><p>He steps forward and lifts Kanan’s chin with the business end of Kanan’s own lightsaber. Igniting it will put a 4-centimeter bore hole through the roof of Kanan’s mouth, into his brain’s frontal lobes, and out through the top of his skull. It might kill him. It might not.</p><p>“Do consider cooperating. It might make the difference between a quick, honorable death and one that will haunt your Apprentice for the rest of his life when he hears of it. So if not for your own sake, please, think of the child.”</p><p>Kanan swallows and hardens his expression.</p><p>The Inquisitor’s eyes gleam and his lips pull back to reveal his sharp teeth.</p><p>Suddenly Kanan breaks his silence. “Can I ask a question?”</p><p>“You may.”</p><p>“Do you file your teeth into those sharp points or are they just naturally like that? My Padawan wants to know.”</p><p>The carnivorous grin widens. The Inquisitor presses the lightsaber into Kanan’s jaw hard enough for the emitter shroud’s pointed edge to break the skin. </p><p>“He can ask me himself when he joins us. If he isn’t a complete coward like his Master.”</p><p>Kanan’s smirk fades.</p><p>In the air above, the Governor’s gunship emerges from the clouds and begins its descent.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>It is dark, quiet, and still.</p><p>Ezra lies in Kanan’s bunk with his back to the doors, clutching Kanan’s only pair of pajama pants. The fabric is soft and thin with age, the bottoms tatty from years of stepping on the hems, especially at the heels. Kanan doesn’t keep many clothes; a few spare undershirts, a coat for colder planets, a heavier set of waterproof trousers, a secondary pair of boots. The pajama pants are the only thing he wears on a regular basis, and other than the pillow where he lays his head, his scent is strongest in them; a musky, sexual scent that reminds Ezra of their closeness, physically and emotionally. He needs that reinforcement now. Needs that connection strong. He buries his face into the fuzzed-out gray material and inhales deeply.</p><p>
  <em> Where are you, Kanan? If you can hear me, say something. Please respond. Kanan? …Master? </em>
</p><p>Silence. The same thing he’s been getting ever since he shut himself in here after sending his message. That was two hours ago. The sun will be rising over Lothal in two more. Ezra doesn’t know if he can bear to face a dawn without Kanan. He’ll stay holed up in here all day if he has to, in the dark and silence, calling through the Force until he receives an answer.</p><p>Ezra’s body is exhausted but his mind is too active to sleep. He knows he should try to sleep, and part of him wants to, but when he tried earlier it was impossible. His thoughts are jittering and jouncing in his head like a frenzied game of laserball.</p><p>
  <em> Kanan. Please. I know you can hear me. I know you’re out there. I can feel you. You’re somewhere on Lothal. You’re moving. Where are they taking you? Why won’t you talk to me? Are you hurt? Are you… are you trying to protect me? You don’t have to protect me, Kanan, I’m strong. You’re the one in danger, not me. Please, Kay, talk to me. Say something. Anything. Just let me know you’re okay. </em>
</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>A tear leaks from Ezra’s eye and trickles across the bridge of his nose.</p><p>He takes a breath, calms his turbulent emotions, and tries again.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>They are taking him to a detention center somewhere on Lothal. Where exactly, Kanan doesn’t know. All he knows is what little he overheard between Tarkin’s officers and the enlisted personnel before he was bundled onto this gunship. He could reach out with the Force and perhaps get a clearer bearing on his course, but that would mean lowering his defenses, and he doesn’t want to do that while the Inquisitor is present. Whatever these cuffs are pumping into him is interfering with his ability to use the Force. Better to focus on maintaining his barriers right now.</p><p>He glances over at the Pau’an standing at the front of the ship. He’s speaking with the Governor and ISB Agent Kallus in a low voice. Tarkin periodically glances over his shoulder. </p><p>They are going to torture him at some point, Kanan is certain of that. He has made peace with the notion and quietly turns his focus inward, bolstering his mental defenses in preparation for the inevitable. He sits stiffly against the bulkhead with his arms locked behind his back and no less than three blaster rifles pointed at him. He meditates, he breathes, he prays. Prays that if it gets bad enough that the Force will at least grant him the mercy of dying gracefully without compromising his principles or betraying the people he loves. He prays that he’ll be strong and unyielding to the very end. To his last breath. He may not have ever achieved the rank of Jedi Knight, but that doesn’t mean he can’t die like one. And he’s fully prepared to do that.</p><p>But it’s not really death that worries Kanan. It’s all of the things that lead up to it. A man in pain will confess to crimes he didn’t commit. Kanan doesn’t know if what little information he has cobbled away in his brain will be of any use to the Empire, nor does he know what he will say if—or when—the pain reaches that level of excruciating where death would be a relief. He hasn’t ever been to that point, but he knows it exists.</p><p>He’s more worried about Ezra. The Inquisitor is far too interested in him, too confident that he’ll eventually be captured. <em> I have developed a very effective method of extracting information from stubborn Jedi</em>. Kanan wonders what this method is. What it will do to him physically, mentally. If he’ll ever be the same man again should he, by some fabulous miracle, survive and escape.</p><p>There it is again, that poking sensation. Someone nudging at the shield around him, a small finger made of light gliding across his impenetrable carapace and looking for a crack, a soft spot. But it’s not malicious. No, quite the opposite. It’s Ezra.</p><p>Kanan redoubles his defenses. The soft inner barrier around his mind hardens like cooling lava, creating another layer of protection as a new one begins to form beneath. The prodding sensation vanishes. He can’t feel it anymore.</p><p>His face crumples and a soft grunt escapes him. </p><p>He never expected it would hurt this much to shut Ezra out. He wants so badly to drop these walls, even for a fraction of a second, to let him know that he can’t talk right now, that it’s dangerous, that he shouldn’t try to rescue him, the Inquisitor is here. He would like to hear Ezra’s voice inside him one last time, capture it in his hands like a radiant moth and cup it to his chest. He wants something beautiful to focus on when his enemies begin to destroy him—a final sweet memory that not all is pain and darkness. That love and hope still exist. That Ezra exists. That he will live and grow and carry on because of what Kanan has done here today.</p><p>
  <em> There is no death. Only the Force. </em>
</p><p>“Aww, look,” sneers one of the stormtroopers. “The high and mighty Jedi is crying.”</p><p>“I always knew those guys were a bunch of delicates.”</p><p>“Kriffing eunuch.”</p><p>A rifle muzzle jabs into Kanan’s chest.</p><p>“What’s the matter, your holiness? Afraid? You should be. The Inquisitor is gonna tear you apart.”</p><p>“Hopefully after we’ve had our fun.”</p><p>Kanan ignores the taunting. The tear on his cheek reaches the end of its journey and disappears into his beard. He sniffs and begins reciting the Code in his head once more.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>In the early hours of dawn, Ezra is woken from a half sleep by his father’s voice.</p><p>
  <em> I’m sorry, Ezra.  </em>
</p><p>He opens his eyes and sits up in the dark, heart pounding.</p><p>“Dad?”</p><p>He waits. Nothing but the quiet whoosh of the <em> Ghost’</em>s air exchange.</p><p>A dream then. But the voice was so clear, so close. Right here in the room with him. </p><p>His mind must be playing tricks on him.</p><p>He lays back down and an emptiness settles over him. Something is gone. He feels it in the Force. Something has changed. Shifted. Energy has been released, set free. Familiar energy. Familial.</p><p>A thought begins to take shape in the darkest part of his brain, but he shuts it off before it can fully form. It’s only a feeling. He has been wrong about visions before. This means nothing. Sometimes a dream is just a dream. </p><p>He sighs.</p><p>There’s an ache between his legs. He reaches down to feel his erection through his pajama shorts. He grimaces, ashamed of himself and his stupid body. Then Kanan’s voice cuts through his memory like a beam of light through the darkness.</p><p><em> Nocturnal tumescence has nothing to do with your mood or desires</em>. <em> It’s just the natural cycle of your hormones. They’re always more concentrated when you wake up. That’s why they call it morning wood. It’s actually a sign that you’re healthy and all your plumbing works. It’s okay. Nothing to be ashamed of. </em>And Kanan had smiled and clapped a comforting hand on his shoulder, and suddenly all of Ezra’s doubts and fears were gone.</p><p>Ezra remembers when he first started experiencing morning erections. He had been around ten years old. It worried him. He thought it might have something to do with the people in the masks. He dreamed about them sometimes. Maybe he missed them. Maybe he really wanted to go back to them, to sit naked with them while they had their meetings and eat all the fruit and delicate little sandwiches he wanted and drink juice out of a fancy long-stemmed glass like a grownup. Maybe he actually <em> did </em>like it when they touched him, bathed him, and paid attention to him; when they told him what a beautiful boy he was and showered him with credits and compliments. Maybe they really cared about him. But if they cared, why did they push him away when he started growing up?</p><p>Ezra knows why. He knows so much now, has learned more in the last year than he has in the last five. He wishes he could go back in time and tell his ten-year-old self that it wasn’t his fault. That the people in masks weren’t causing these changes to his body, that it was just puberty and there was nothing to be scared or ashamed of, and someday he’s going to meet a really kind, caring, wise, wonderful man who will change his life, and he’ll have a family and be loved again. That everything will be okay. For a little while, anyway.</p><p>His erection is mostly gone by now. Ezra swings his legs out of the bunk and makes his way to the head. He hears voices in the common area and wonders if anyone else on this ship got any sleep last night. His body feels like it weighs a hundred kilos. Did Hera accidentally turn on the artificial gravity? No. No, this is just him. He’s weak, exhausted. Too tired to even stand upright. He leans against the bulkhead and sleepily aims a stream of urine into the toilet bowl with his eyes closed. Suddenly he breaks into a grin and laughs.</p><p>He remembers the scolding he and Kanan got from Hera once. <em> You’re supposed to be Jedi! There is no reason for pee to be all over the floor and seat. Use the Force, boys, or else I will. </em> Excessive <em> force. Are we clear? </em></p><p>Two snappy salutes and a pair of aye-aye Captains cleared up <em> that </em> business. Ezra can hardly take a leak now without thinking of it.</p><p>He flushes the commode and washes his hands, then wanders toward the galley. He’ll get something to drink, maybe grab a few ration bars, and then go back to Kanan’s room. His shock has had time to fade. Maybe he’ll have better luck trying to reach him now.</p><p>The nutty aroma of instant caf reaches his nostrils before he enters the galley. Hera is sitting at the table with one hand propping her head up and the other twiddling a stylus. She’s staring down at a datapad—a map of Lothal. Several hand-drawn circles are marked on it. An empty mug sits in front of her. She raises her head when Ezra enters and gives him a faint smile.</p><p>“Hey.” She sets down her stylus and pushes the datapad away. “Get any sleep?”</p><p>“Not much.”</p><p>“You look like it. Want something to eat? I can make you a bowl of porridge.”</p><p>Ezra gazes at Hera’s face and his heart swells with love. A lump rises in his throat. She looks just as exhausted as he feels, and yet here she is, offering to do things for him. He blinks the moisture out of his eyes and clears his throat.</p><p>“Nah, thanks, I”—he winces as his voice cracks—“think I’ll just grab something quick. We got any linglok juice?” He opens the refrigerator and peers inside.</p><p>“None ready to drink. You’ll have to mix up a packet or two.”</p><p>“Mm. What about milk?”</p><p>Hera tilts her head, causing her lekku to swing. “What’s your hurry?”</p><p>“No hurry, I’m just lazy.” Ezra gives her a smile.</p><p>It doesn’t work.</p><p>“What is it, Ezra? You can tell me.”</p><p><em> Can I really? </em> He sighs, shuts the fridge, and slumps down across from her.</p><p>“I’ve been searching for Kanan all night.” He rests his elbows on the table and rubs his face, drags his hands through his hair. He suddenly looks much older than fifteen. “The Force is… I can search the Force for his energy. It’s like a fingerprint, totally unique. We all have one, an individual energy signature. I know he’s somewhere on Lothal, but I think he’s blocking me.”</p><p>Hera sits up straight, eyes wide. “You can <em> do </em>that? You think you can find Kanan?”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s…” Ezra swallows. “Maybe. But I think he’s trying to protect us ’cause I haven’t been able to reach him. Yet. It’s like he’s shutting me out. Or maybe he’s unconscious or something, I dunno. But I’m gonna keep trying. I’m not as freaked out now as I was last night, so maybe I can focus enough to get through to him.”</p><p>“I didn’t know Jedi could do this kind of thing.”</p><p>“Sure, if they’re—” He balks. God, he’s so tired he almost forgot who he’s talking to.</p><p>“If they’re what?”</p><p>Ezra bows his head and begins picking at his fingernails. Sometimes the best lie is a half-truth. He knows from experience. He can do this.</p><p>“If they’re bonded like me and Kanan are,” he says at last. “We… we made something called a syndis loop. Kind of an accident, but it’s actually pretty helpful. It strengthens the bond between two Jedi.”</p><p>“Syndis?”</p><p>“Yeah. It stands for symbiotic energy distribution. Basically Kanan, he, uh, he gave me a piece of his Force. Like, a piece of his living energy. Not intentionally. It just sorta happened. Took us both by surprise. And now that piece is inside me, part of my own Force.” He places his hand on his upper chest. “I can feel him a lot clearer than before we made the loop. I don’t have to search the entire Force to find him, I can just focus on what’s already inside me and reach him that way… in theory. It always happened pretty easy when we were near each other, but I’ve never tried it when we’re separated. Not with this much distance between us.”</p><p>Hera sits back, astonished. “That’s amazing. You two sound really… connected. I’m glad.” She smiles warmly, proudly.</p><p>Ezra shrugs, but his hands are trembling. “Well, uh, that’s just—I mean, it’s nothing <em> super </em> special. The Force surrounds and penetrates and binds us <em> all </em>together, right?”</p><p>“That’s what I’ve heard. You really think this syndis ability will help us locate Kanan?”</p><p>“I know it will. I’ve used Force Sight to find people before, and syndis is supposed to be way more effective. But it’s… I mean, this is my first time really trying to use it, and I’m still trying to figure it out, but I know it’ll pay off. I <em> will </em>find him, Hera. I swear.”</p><p>She nods almost to herself. “Alright then. Is there anything I can do to help?”</p><p>“I dunno. I can’t think of anything just yet. All I need is time. You just… you keep doing what you’re doing. Maybe we can tie it into our rescue plan later, once I reach him. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”</p><p>“Okay, that sounds good.” She pauses. “Have you told Sabine and Zeb about this syndis thing?”</p><p>“Not yet. I honestly just came out here to get something to drink.”</p><p>“Well, you should probably let them know. Or, better yet, <em> I’ll </em> let them know. You look like you’re two winks away from coma. Let me mix up some juice and get you a few snacks to take back to your room. Okay?” She stands up and makes her way to the cupboards.</p><p>The lump is back in his throat again. Ezra smiles. “Thanks, Hera. You’re the best.”</p><p>“I get that a lot,” she says with a wink of one green eye. “Just promise me you’ll get some sleep later. You’re no good to anyone, Kanan included, if you’re half dead with exhaustion.”</p><p>Ezra gives her his typical two-finger salute. “Yes, Captain.”</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>The gunship reaches the facility shortly after daybreak. Nothing looks familiar to Kanan in the sallow light of morning, and he doesn’t get to spend much time outside. He is weak and deliriously tired. He doesn’t know if it’s the drugs in his system or the fact that he hasn’t slept in over 24 standard hours. The last time he shut his eyes had been with his head on Ezra’s bare chest the night before the mission. He can still feel him, the warmth of his body, the rise and fall of his belly as he breathed. It comes back to him in all its intimate beauty: the beat of Ezra’s heart beneath his ear; his scent; the feeling of being inside him, the tightness, the heat; how the Force flowed through them in waves as they moved against one another, in and out, back and forth; the needy whimpers repeating his name like a prayer in the dark.</p><p>He slings the memories from his mind with a shake of his head.</p><p>Thoughts are drifting. Brain muddy. Don’t let it happen again. Got to stay sharp. Focus, Jarrus. Maintain the shield. For <em> his </em>sake.</p><p>An entourage of six stormtroopers escort Kanan through a fenced perimeter and into a deceptively plain-looking office building. Its interior is dark and bleak, sterile. It smells of metal and disinfectant. He is shoved down a corridor that opens into a duracrete room with no windows and several drains in the floor. A stormtrooper appears at his side holding a vibroblade, and he begins to cut off Kanan’s clothes, not caring if the knife nicks skin. And it does. Often. Armor, belts and clothes are rendered into a pile of shreds, and soon Kanan stands naked and bleeding before his captors. Lewd comments and threats are slung at him, then a large hose is dragged in and he is doused with a torrent of frigid, high-pressure water. He loses his footing on the slick floor and falls onto his hip. The troopers laugh and jeer and spray him in the face. Kanan crawls back up and patiently endures the abuse.</p><p>Watching from the shadows, the Inquisitor smiles at the sport. Tarkin’s frown, however, never falters.</p><p>The hose is shut off and Kanan is led to another room. His hypodermic cuffs are swapped for a pair of unlinked shock manacles, and he is given a prisoner’s uniform to put on. He wordlessly complies, pulling the coarse fabric over his wet skin with trembling fingers. He is then pushed through another hall to be processed. His holo is taken, his vitals and statistics updated. He glimpses his mugshot before he is led from the room: ugly gray coveralls spotted with bloodstains, tangled strings of wet hair falling across his cheeks, chin high, eyes direct and resigned. Like a man doomed to die. He wonders if the Spectres will ever see this holo. If Ezra will add it to the datachip containing the only surviving image of his parents.</p><p><em>We should have taken more</em>, Kanan thinks with a pang of regret. <em> All of us. Happy ones. I hope he never sees this. </em></p><p>Fatigue is beginning to set in by the time they finally arrive at the interrogation room. He is strapped onto an upright rack known as an interrogation chair or “torture table” by its employers and faces an audience consisting of Agent Kallus, Governor Tarkin, and the Inquisitor.</p><p>Kallus glances down at his datapad. “I’m sure you’re already quite familiar with our questioning procedure, Mister Jarrus, so I’ll spare you the long-winded introduction and get straight to the point: if you cooperate, there will be little need for mechanical encouragement. If you do not cooperate, you will be ‘prompted’ until a satisfactory response is obtained. Outbursts and verbal threats will be dealt with swiftly and accordingly. Fairly straightforward, as you can see. So tell us”—he raises his head with a smarmy smile—“are you willing to cooperate with us now?”</p><p>Kanan glares and keeps his mouth shut.</p><p>Kallus lowers his head and taps on his pad. “Right, then. Let it be noted that the prisoner was given an opportunity to cooperate peacefully, to which he declined. Gentleman, I turn it over to you.” He turns on his heel and exits the room with an air of nonchalance.</p><p>Tarkin approaches, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes unblinking, his face as dispassionate as ever. </p><p>“Kanan Jarrus,” he drawls. “Now we will discover if you are indeed the Jedi you claim to be. Inquisitor, you may proceed.”</p><p>The tall, lean Pau’an steps out of the shadows and stands before Kanan. His yellow eyes gleam around their black sclera. He leans in until Kanan can smell his breath, a sour meaty odor. </p><p>“You look tired, Jedi. It has been a long night for you, hasn’t it?”</p><p>Kanan sets his jaw and focuses on the wall over the Inquisitor’s shoulder.</p><p>“Don’t worry. Not all detainees receive the same treatment. You will be given comfortable accommodations once we’re finished here. You are something of a special guest, after all.”</p><p>Kanan’s tongue itches to say something. To ask why. To spit a sarcastic “thanks but no thanks”. But he says nothing and remains staring blankly at the wall.</p><p>The Inquisitor straightens up. “I couldn’t help but notice during your processing that you appear to have a wound on your shoulder. May I examine it?”</p><p>Wound? Kanan tries to keep a neutral expression but his eyebrows pinch themselves together. What wound? Something other than the dozens of oozing cuts all over his body?</p><p>The Inquisitor pulls the collar of Kanan’s coveralls to the side, baring his right shoulder. Kanan doesn’t turn his head to look; he’s wracking his brain trying to remember how he might have injured himself in such a way that would merit this special attention.</p><p>“Hm. Interesting.” A gloved finger traces the uneven circle of day-old teeth imprints on Kanan’s bicep. “Bite mark, human. Substantial bruising. Clear, deep impressions; too clear to have been delivered through clothing. Uncorrected alignment of the lower incisors points to a lack of access to dental care. Who bit you, Kanan Jarrus? A vagrant on the street? One of your crew? Do you fight with them often? Or is this a wound of a… <em> different </em>nature?” </p><p>Kanan’s left eye twitches. His heart rate spikes for an instant before he gains control of it again.</p><p>Don’t crack. Stay calm. Maintain the</p><p>
  <em> fuck it was Ezra when we were making love </em>
</p><p>wall. Don’t let them see you</p><p>
  <em> he bit me when he came </em>
</p><p>nervous. Maintain. Maintain</p><p>
  <em> and then I came too. With his teeth in me and me in him </em>
</p><p>maintain, Jarrus. Don’t let them see your fear.</p><p>The Inquisitor smiles and straightens Kanan’s collar. “Well, it doesn’t seem to be causing you any pain. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” A patronizing pat. “Let’s move on, shall we?” He raises his gloved hand in front of Kanan’s face.</p><p>Instantly Kanan feels a pressure in his head. The first layer of protection around his mind shatters like glass and disintegrates. So easy. <em> So easy</em>. How did he do it so easily? He grits his teeth and grunts, concentrates on keeping his remaining barriers up.</p><p>“Tell me, Jedi,” says the Inquisitor, “where can I find your rebel friends?”</p><p>The second wall begins to crack. Smoky fingers of darkness press into the fissures and begin to leak their way inside. Kanan frantically reinforces his mental defenses, calling upon the Force with all the strength in his drugged, exhausted body. </p><p><em> Where are they? </em> comes an oily whisper from the outside. <em> Tell me. I will bring them to you. You can be together again. Just tell me where they are. Where </em> he <em> is. </em></p><p>“No,” Kanan snarls. It’s the first word he’s said since he was taken. “Ezra.” His voice breaks and he groans with exertion. “Not him. <em> Not him</em>.”</p><p>Tarkin inclines his head, pleased at the progress.</p><p>The Inquisitor stretches out his long fingers. “LSC 1. What does that mean?”</p><p>Despair courses through Kanan. The cracks in his shield widen. The black mist seeps in like poison.</p><p>“It’s a location,” the Inquisitor murmurs. “Somewhere on Lothal. A camp. One of… four, is it? Yes, Lothal Surface Camp One. Between Capital City and Kothal. But they have moved since last night, haven’t they? Where would they go?”</p><p>Kanan’s whole body shakes and shudders. He feels cold, sick, weak. <em> Force help me</em>, he prays. <em> Give me strength. Give me serenity. Don’t let me give them up, please. Please, I love</em>— </p><p>Passion, a glowing mass of color and light and a thousand raw emotions, suddenly erupts from somewhere inside him. Kanan barely manages to gain control of it before it can explode outward through his own defenses.</p><p><em> Now use it, Caleb. </em>Use <em>it. </em></p><p>Yes, Master.</p><p>The cracks disappear. A shimmering light fills them. The darkness recoils, shrieking. A new barrier rises around his mind, strong and thick, and peace settles over him.</p><p>Kanan opens one eye and smiles weakly. “Is that all you’ve got?”</p><p>A shadow falls over the Inquisitor’s face. He steps back with a scowl. “I’m glad you asked.” </p><p>With a flick of his fingers, two electro-rods descend from mechanical arms mounted to the ceiling. They unfold and crackle to life. Tendrils of electricity snake over their surfaces.</p><p>Kanan shuts his eyes and braces himself.</p><p>There’s a snap, a sizzle. Hot blue light fills the room. And then the torture begins.</p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>Secondhand pain jolts Ezra from a sound sleep. “Kanan!” he shouts before he crumples into a fetal ball. His chest burns. His lungs refuse to inflate. His muscles are frozen and locked, unresponsive to his brain’s commands. A howl of agony rings inside his head. It’s a voice he recognizes.</p><p>
  <em> Oh, God, Kanan, they’re hurting you. Where are you?! Tell me, Kanan, please! </em>
</p><p>Ezra groans and tumbles out of the bunk and lies on the deck in a moaning, shivering heap.</p><p>Syndis. Syndis. He’s feeling this because of the syndis loop. Kanan’s fragment inside him. It’s hurting, but the pain isn’t really there. Ezra knows it isn’t. Nothing in the room is directly affecting him, but he’s still feeling it somehow. His nerves are on fire, his heart clenched into a tight knot, his brain practically sizzling. As if simply knowing that Kanan is suffering is enough to make it real.</p><p>Hot tears pour from his eyes. “Kanan, no,” he sobs. “No no no. Hang on, Kanan, don’t die. Stay with me, I’ll find you. We’re coming for you. Just talk to me!”</p><p>The pain rolls back a little, then returns like a wave washing up along a sandy beach. It’s less intense this time, the duration shorter. It recedes after a few moments. The following waves are weaker, briefer; the connection is fading. Ezra doesn’t know if Kanan is dying or if he’s losing consciousness. All he knows is that he’s more frightened now than at any other point in his life.</p><p>He grabs hold of the mattress and pulls himself upright, props himself against the bunk. His breath comes in short gasps. </p><p><em> I lost my parents. I’m not going to lose you too, Kanan, now kriffing </em> talk to me<em>! Tell me where you are! </em></p><p>Silence. The pain has stopped. He feels nothing now, senses nothing. Just darkness. A void where his Master’s presence once was.</p><p>Ezra’s face contorts with grief. He presses his face into the mattress and cries like a child.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. I want to believe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Inquisitor destroys Kanan Jarrus piece by piece.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tarkin returns to the interrogation room at midday and arrives in the middle of a session. The prisoner is writhing on the rack, screaming erratically. Jagged fingers of high-voltage electrostatic discharge race across his body, biting savagely. The air is thick with the scent of hot electrodes, scorched hair, and the sour, adrenal odor of human sweat—perspiration that has been squeezed out through the relentless application of brutal, exquisite pain. </p><p>Electricity isn’t the only implement that has been used; the prisoner’s cheekbone is bruised, his eye blackened, his bottom lip split; the work of stormtroopers. A telltale rash indicative of a high dose of OV600 truth serum covers his neck and face with inflamed red patches. Undoubtedly the Bavo Six serum, purely psychotropic in nature, proved ineffective.</p><p>Tarkin raises his voice to be heard over the screams. “The Jedi is no good to me dead, Inquisitor.”</p><p>The circuit abruptly cuts off. Kanan slumps forward against his restraints, heaving for breath, hair hanging over his face. Wisps of smoke rise from his collar.</p><p>“His resistance is impressive.” The Inquisitor’s tone is pleased, almost admiring. “He certainly possesses the will of a Jedi.”</p><p>“Have you been able to extract any more information from him? Perhaps something that might actually be useful?”</p><p>“No. But this is only the first step, Governor. Acquiring information is not the objective. This is merely a trial to soften him for what follows.”</p><p>“Six hours ought to have been more than enough time to prepare him,” says Tarkin crisply. “There is no use in dragging this out any longer. I will contact the <em> Sovereign </em> and request a shuttle to collect us and the prisoner. It should arrive within the hour. If any further ‘softening’ is required, I suggest you expedite the process.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary. I’m sure our guest is quite ready for a reprieve by now.” </p><p>The Inquisitor grabs a fistful of Kanan’s hair and lifts his head. </p><p>A line of bright red blood is slowly tracking from one of Kanan’s nostrils and moving down his upper lip. His eyes are glazed, unfocused. </p><p>“You would like that, wouldn’t you, Jarrus? A few hours’ rest, some food and water, a soft bed.”</p><p>“Go to hell,” Kanan whispers between parched lips.</p><p>A chuckle flutters in the Inquisitor’s throat. “I admire your spirit. Perhaps my Master will, too.” He lets go of Kanan’s head and turns to the two stormtroopers guarding the door. “Take the prisoner to the landing strip. Await further command.”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>Kanan is unstrapped and removed from the interrogation chair, a stormtrooper gripping each arm. He sags between them, his legs trembling to bear his weight. They march out into the corridor, Kanan half-dragged, half-stumbling along. He is only dimly aware of what’s happening. The OV600 serum has left him in a dreamlike, disoriented state that, while unable to elicit a confession from him, is dangerously close to eroding the last of his willpower.  He’s just barely keeping his mental shields up. To make matters worse, several hours of non-lethal but excruciating electric shocks have disrupted his brain’s synapses and wrought havoc on his heart and nervous system. This combination of physical, neurological and psychological damage has all but rendered him insensate. He doesn’t feel the floor beneath his feet. He sees things that aren’t there: flying insects made of pure light out of the corners of his eyes; shadowy figures racing each other across the walls; the face of a shell-shocked, blood-flecked boy named Caleb staring at him from a passing doorway. Kanan keeps his eyes on the boy (the ghost) until his neck refuses to turn any farther. </p><p>They haul him through a high-security terminal and out onto a busy spaceport apron, then make him kneel under the blinding afternoon sun. He complies, slumping down with a loud exhalation. He shuts his eyes, then gives a violent start when his stun cuffs deliver an unexpected shock.</p><p>“No sleeping,” says the stormtrooper on his right. He is holding the controller. “Inquisitor’s orders.”</p><p>Kanan sits up straight and draws in a tired breath.</p><p>A little bit longer then. Fine. He can sleep when he’s dead. Might not be that far off anyway.</p><p>They await the arrival of the shuttle in silence. The rumble of spacecraft and the occasional announcement over the PA system provide a steady, monotonous soundtrack to the passage of time. In some ways these 40 minutes under Lothal’s blistering sun are worse than the previous six hours of interrogation. At least inside it was dark and cool and Kanan was given no chance to drift off. Out here on the shimmering white duracrete, with the sun beating down on his head and soaking into his dark uniform, with no pain to keep him in a waking state, Kanan truly suffers. His head nods continuously. Sometimes he’s fast enough to catch himself just before he dozes off, but most of the time, every two minutes or so, he is jolted awake by a shock racing up his arms. The stormtroopers laugh at his reaction. </p><p>At this point Kanan doesn’t care. His pride is crushed, his dignity gone. There is nothing more they can take from him. He’s coated in a greasy film of sweat that irritates the rashes and cuts all over his body. His ribs ache from the fists of stormtroopers. The back of his throat feels like paper. He’s thirstier than he has ever been in his life. </p><p>He tries not to think about it. Tries to mentally isolate himself from his own physical discomfort. The Empty Stomach Challenge comes back to him like a dream from decades ago.</p><p>
  <em> You’re not always going to be fit and well-rested. Sometimes you’re going to be hungry and tired, maybe even wounded, but you need to learn to quiet these signals from your body and keep your mind on your objective. It’s just mortal pain. Remember that. </em>
</p><p>Kanan smiles to himself, stretching the skin on his chapped lips. “Mortal pain sucks.”</p><p>“Shut up,” says the stormtrooper. He gives him another shock.</p><p>Kanan jerks as the current rips through his arms. He says no more after that.</p><p>At last the shuttle appears in the sky above them and begins its descent. It touches down and trundles up the runway, stopping at its appointed dock. The stormtroopers drag Kanan to his feet and hustle him into the small craft. It’s cool and dim inside. He gratefully sinks into a seat, his head throbbing and his tongue thick and gluey feeling. A few minutes later Tarkin and the Inquisitor join them. The ramp retracts, the doors shut, and the cabin is pressurized. The shuttle lifts off and leaves Lothal behind. </p><p>Kanan’s stomach gives a nauseous somersault when they break atmosphere and the artificial gravity kicks on. That split second where everything in his body goes weightless—blood, guts, a brain floating in a bone shell flooded with cerebrospinal fluid—is enough to make him vomit. He doesn’t. There’s nothing in his stomach.</p><p>He leans over and drops a wad of dry, foamy spittle onto the deck, the kind he used to spit when he’d wake up after a night of drinking and was so dehydrated that his throat had forgotten what water felt like. Same sensation: head splitting, leaden limbs, a mouth full of bantha wool. </p><p>He used to drink to feel nothing. To numb himself to the Force. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with it anymore. It hadn’t saved his Master. It hadn’t saved his friends. It hadn’t even saved him. What good was all that power in the face of such overwhelming evil? It wasn’t. It hadn’t been. </p><p>So he drank. Every day, every night. He took to carrying a flask in a holster tucked behind his blaster. He hid bottles all over Janus Kasmir’s ship. Janus was sympathetic to a fault. He didn’t gripe at Kanan enough, didn’t push him to clean up his act, didn’t give him an ultimatum. There were no interventions. He allowed Kanan enough room and enough rope to hang himself, and when they finally parted ways for good, Kanan drank even more.</p><p>The worst thing was how well he could hide it. “Functioning alcoholic” was the label used for people like Kanan, but it was an oxymoron. Alcoholics didn’t function. Some just managed to get more shit done than the rest. They were still broken creatures. Pretenders. Good actors.</p><p>Kanan was twenty-two and hadn’t been sober in four years when he met Hera. Why she even cared, Kanan will never know. That was just the way she was—and still is. Even strangers had value to her, especially those who were hurting. She may have needed his skills in the beginning, but when she invited Kanan to join the rebellion, it woke something up inside him that had been asleep for a long time. That thing had been hope. It felt good to have hope again.</p><p>At first it was just the three of them: him, Hera, Chopper. Then a former captain of the Lasan Honor Guard joined the crew. Then a Mandalorian teenager who had deserted the Imperial Academy. And finally a Lothalian orphan who was strong with the Force. </p><p>Kanan loves all of them. He would kill for them. He would die for them. He <em> is </em> dying for them, his family.</p><p>He takes a deep breath and draws strength from his passion. It’s there. Might as well use it.</p><p>In the forward viewport, the massive white hull of an Imperial Star Destroyer looms into view. The pilot receives clearance confirmation and announces an ETA of two minutes.</p><p>A frigid darkness suddenly envelops Kanan and lifts him from his seat. He is set on his feet by an invisible helper. Wobbling dizzily, he glances over at the Inquisitor, who lowers his hand with a grotesque smirk.</p><p>“Don’t look so miserable, Master Jedi. The worst is over now. Soon you will be safe and comfortable.”</p><p>Kanan scoffs through his nose.</p><p>The cold recedes, and the shuttle enters the landing bay.</p><hr class="hr"/><p>Kanan has never been on a Destroyer before. Even in his brittle state the sheer enormity of the craft astounds him. Or maybe it’s because of his brittle state that he’s so astounded. It’s been 40 standard hours since he last slept, and he is slowly losing his grip on reality. He trudges between his Imperial escorts, eyes fixed dully on the Inquisitor’s back. One heavy foot in front of the other. Boots clapping in rhythm on the polished floor. Echoes. Layers upon layers of them. They march down one corridor, turn, then another corridor. </p><p>It’s a Loth-rabbit warren, he decides. He spots one or two of the creatures scampering in his periphery. Or maybe it’s the tangled intestinal tract of some malignant beast that has already swallowed him and now it’s going to digest him, break him down. It won’t take much. He’s already falling apart at the seams. Molecules uncoupling from one another. Slowly atomizing.</p><p>They hike deep into the bowels of this great white monster before finally arriving at a cell. Only it isn’t a cell. It’s a stateroom, larger than Kanan’s own cabin on the <em> Ghost</em>, and much nicer. It’s spare, no appliances or decorations, but the floor is carpeted and the walls are painted a soothing shade of light gray-blue. A bed with fluffy pillows sits against one wall. Above it is a wall-mounted lamp that casts a tranquil glow onto thick buttery-soft sheets. To the left is an open door leading to a refresher, its faucets and fixtures sparkling clean. </p><p>Confusion stabs at Kanan’s brain. This is wrong. A trick. Illusion. Can’t be his room. (The Inquisitor’s?) Supposed to be cold and dark. Sharp edges and metal. Not… this. </p><p>The stormtroopers gripping his arms abruptly release him. He almost drops to the floor. Only the reflexive action of his foot shooting out prevents him from toppling.</p><p>The Inquisitor turns to him. Golden eyes rake up and down, assessing. “I trust you will find these arrangements to your liking. Make yourself comfortable. The room is under surveillance and there are guards posted outside your door, so I would discourage you from attempting anything heroic… though I doubt you have the energy for that, hm.” A grin.</p><p>Kanan is too tired to even scowl. As if triggered by the comfortable surroundings, the full weight of his exhaustion bears down on him. His shoulders ache with an invisible burden. His eyeballs are gritty, like they’ve been plucked out of his head, rolled in sand, and popped back in. The rims of his eyelids burn. He wants nothing more than to close them and let sleep and darkness heal them.</p><p>The Inquisitor makes his way to the doors, followed by the two stormtroopers. “Get some rest, Jedi,” he says over his shoulder. “You’re going to need it.”</p><p>And then they leave, just like that. The door slides shut behind them and Kanan is left standing dumbly in the center of the room, blinking, wondering what to do. If he should even touch anything. His thoughts squeeze slowly through his brain like sludge in a congested pipe.</p><p>Water first, he decides. Then… whatever.</p><p>He doesn’t trust the two bottles sitting on the bedside table. Even though they’re sealed, they might have been tampered with. Poisoned. So he stumbles to the refresher and turns on the tap, cups his hands beneath it and drinks and drinks and drinks, until his stomach is swollen and cold. It tastes wonderful. Nothing has ever tasted as good as this. He splashes the precious life-giving liquid on his face and down his neck, soaking the collar of his sweat-stained uniform. </p><p>He uses the toilet, then shuffles back out into the room and stands at the edge of the bed. There are probably a hundred reasons why he shouldn’t, but none of them compute right now. It’s what they want. Obviously what they want. Kanan doesn’t care. He has done all he can; he can’t hang on a minute longer.</p><p>He lays down on the bed—the sheets swallow him like an eager lover, soft and welcoming—and he closes his eyes. In less than thirty seconds he is fast asleep.</p><hr class="hr"/><p>Forty-five minutes later, long enough for the prisoner to have entered the delta wave stage of the sleep cycle, the Inquisitor returns to the room. He moves soundlessly across the carpet to the bed and glares down at the man. He is in deep sleep, brain waves pulsing at a slow frequency, interspersed with high amplitude delta signals. His body is repairing itself now. Rebuilding tissue. Bolstering the immune system. Undoing the damage caused by stress. Busy, busy, busy. Conveniently distracted.</p><p>The Inquisitor produces a syringe from his pocket, removes the cap, and raises it to the light. A few drops of neon blue liquid—an experimental truth serum known as DMT-11, a serotonergic hallucinogen blended with a paralyzing nerve agent—leak from the needle and drip down the barrel. He sits down on the edge of the bed and, in a disturbingly tender gesture, brushes Kanan’s tangled hair aside to expose his neck. He inserts the needle into his jugular vein and slowly depresses the plunger. The serum disappears line by line. When the syringe is empty, the Inquisitor replaces the cap and returns it to his pocket. He waits, observing his prisoner.</p><p>Kanan’s face twitches once. Twice. Then his eyes begin to move rapidly behind his lids. </p><p>The Pau’an smiles. “Pleasant dreams, I hope?” He removes his glove and leans over Kanan, pressing cool white fingertips to the man’s temple. “Let’s take a look.” He closes his eyes.</p><p>There’s a tapping on Kanan’s shields. Soft, insistent. Kanan wakes up and stares at the bulkhead of the <em> Ghost</em>. It could be Ezra, he thinks.</p><p>
  <em> Master? It’s me. Are you okay? </em>
</p><p>It <em> is </em>Ezra. Kanan springs out of his bunk and opens the doors.</p><p>And just like that, the walls surrounding Kanan Jarrus’s mind come crashing down.</p><p>In the dream-corridor, Ezra smiles up at Kanan. His teeth are sharp and white. <em> I’ve been trying to reach you, Master. </em></p><p><em> I’m sorry, Ezra. I was… </em> Kanan can’t remember why he locked Ezra out of his cabin. Something bad. Something he doesn’t want to think about. It doesn’t matter now anyway. He’s home and Ezra is here. Everything is fine, wonderful. He’s so happy. He hasn’t felt this happy in years.</p><p>He ducks down and scoops Ezra into his arms, hugging him and twirling him around.</p><p>The Inquisitor chuckles. “A lovely reunion.”</p><p><em> I missed you so much, honey</em>, Kanan murmurs into the crook of Ezra’s neck.</p><p>Ezra embraces him with his arms and legs. <em> Show me</em>, he says.</p><p>Kanan nuzzles, searching for soft lips. He finds them and devours them.</p><p>The leer fades from the Inquisitor’s face. “Unexpected.” </p><p>Dream-Kanan pulls Ezra inside his cabin. The doors slide shut.</p><p>On the bed aboard the <em> Sovereign</em>, Kanan’s breathing picks up. His heart rate increases. An erection stirs in the crotch of his baggy gray coveralls. </p><p>The Inquisitor frowns and watches the dream unfold. It is powerful, vivid. Threads connecting to memories—anchors. Not just a fantasy then. These actions have a precedence in reality. He follows the lines down into the dark ocean of Kanan’s mind, leaving behind the erotic surface dream. </p><p>What he finds stuns him. A cache of memories, secret and guarded, worn soft around the edges from being replayed. They are precious. Beloved. One stands out more clearly than the others:</p><p>The boy against the backdrop of a starry night sky, smiling, a blue halo around his head. The twin moons of Lothal hover over his bare shoulder. He is completely naked. <em> I wanna go all the way tonight</em>, he says. <em> I’m ready. I wanna feel you inside me. </em></p><p>The Inquisitor detects Kanan’s emotions, hears his inner thoughts. So beautiful. Want him. Want to remember this moment forever.<em> Come here, gorgeous. </em></p><p>The boy again, more recently. Straddling Kanan’s hips, impaled on his organ. Then on his back, moaning his Master’s name as he is orally stimulated. Climaxing. Taking the cock again immediately afterward. Biting Kanan’s shoulder as he comes a second time. Kanan groaning and ejaculating into the condom.</p><p>And more. Much more.</p><p>
  <em> I like honey. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I may have taken my clothes off for food once upon a time, but I’m not a whore. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thanks, Kanan. I knew there was a reason I loved you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Try not to crash us into the moon, Dad. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You really think I’ll be a Jedi Master someday? </em>
</p><p>The Inquisitor pages through their entire history in a matter of seconds. His long white nose wrinkles in distaste. “Your own Padawan. Disgusting. You just couldn’t wait, could you? Barely fifteen years old, and you don’t even have the decency to be ashamed. Such a hypocrite, like all Jedi.”</p><p>The two are sitting on a knoll together at sunset, eating. Sigma Dregan. Empty Stomach Challenge. <em> Most of the time all I had to do was take off my clothes and sit with them while they had… meetings, I guess they were.  </em></p><p>Disgust. Sympathy. Horrified curiosity.</p><p><em> They were fair, at least. Nice to me. Told me I was… that I had pretty eyes. </em> (His eyes <em> are </em>pretty.)</p><p>Protectiveness. Lust. Attachment. Greed.</p><p>“I think you belong on our side more than theirs, Jarrus,” the Inquisitor mutters. “Your perversity is astounding.”</p><p>The boy on his back again, smiling as he looks up at his Master. <em> I love you so much. </em> His face abruptly changes. Tears rolling from his eyes. A clasping of hands. <em> It’s okay. Don’t be afraid. We made a syndis loop. It’s a temporary thing. Just… be still. Don’t try to control it.  </em></p><p>The Inquisitor inhales sharply. Yellow and black eyes fly open. “Impossible. You could not have. You never even completed your training as a Padawan.”</p><p>He probes deeper, fingers pressing hard into Kanan’s temple. Chasing the truth.</p><p>There was a meeting in the beginning. A crude drawing in the middle of a table.</p><p>
  <em> It’s supposed to help two Jedi form a closer, more permanent connection to one another. They become more effective, reinforcing each other through shared skills and wisdom and virtue. </em>
</p><p>The boy touching his throat. Colors in the Force that only they can see now. An intimate connection binding them to one another. Feelings and thoughts flowing without resistance. True telepathy. Raw, untapped power.</p><p>“So it’s real,” the Inquisitor murmurs and straightens up. “You and your Padawan are in syndis. My Master will be greatly interested to learn of this. However, we need both of you. Tell me, where is dear little Ezra? I would like to speak with him.”</p><p>Kanan’s dream-sight blurs, racing through time and space as he mindlessly obeys the command. Lothal Surface Camp Two zooms into view. The <em>Ghost </em>is hiding in the shade of a cluster of monoliths. Flying into the ship now, down the corridors. Arriving at Kanan’s cabin. Melting through the doors. There’s someone lying on his bunk. A lump of blankets and desperation. The boy, Ezra. He is asleep, his mind open wide and unguarded, awaiting an answer from his Master. Inside his chest at the base of his throat glows a golden light—a beacon, receiving on all frequencies.</p><p>The Inquisitor sits down on the bunk and lovingly brushes Ezra’s hair from his forehead. And when he speaks, it’s with Kanan’s stolen voice.</p><p>“Ezra. Ezra, honey, wake up. I’m here.”</p><hr class="hr"/><p>Indigo eyes snap open wide. Ezra sits up, fully awake and breathless.</p><p>
  <em> Kanan? Is that you? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I don’t have much time, Ez. They’re…  </em>
</p><p>The connection wavers. He’s weak. Dying.</p><p>Ezra puts a shaking hand over his heart. Red-rimmed eyes fill with tears of anguish. <em> Kanan, where are you? Tell me! </em></p><p><em> It won’t matter. It’s too late. Tarkin’s Destroyer, the </em> Sovereign <em> … it’ll be leaving for Mustafar soon. I’m sorry, Ezra. I made so many promises to you, and now… </em></p><p>Ezra’s face crumples. <em> Kanan, don’t. </em></p><p>
  <em> I love you. I didn’t want to go without saying that one last time. Promise me you won’t follow me. </em>
</p><p>Scalding tears begin to pour down Ezra’s cheeks. <em> You’re my Master! I’m </em> supposed <em> to follow you! </em></p><p>
  <em> Not this time, honey. You have to let me go. </em>
</p><p>“No.”</p><p>
  <em> Everything will be alright, Ezra. I promise. Remember what I taught you.<br/></em>
</p><p>“No! Kanan—”</p><p>Silence. He’s gone. Ezra feels their connection shatter, leaving nothing but empty space where their minds had once touched. He bows his head, buries his face in his hands, and shudders in grief. After a few moments he draws in a breath and rises to his feet.</p><p>“No,” he vows. “Not yet. Not ever.”</p><hr class="hr"/><p>The Inquisitor opens his eyes and leans back. Kanan lies on the bed motionless, his hair fanned out around his head. He is lost in dream, senseless to reality—and physically paralyzed for the next several hours.</p><p>“See, that wasn’t so difficult, was it? Soon you will be reunited with your Padawan lover, and Lord Vader shall have the pleasure of undoing two Jedi instead of one.”</p><p>With a victorious sneer, the Inquisitor stands up and slips from the room.</p><p>He has preparations to make.</p><hr class="hr"/><p>Sabine, Chopper and Zeb are gathered around the table in the common area, staring up at a 3D holomap of Lothal. Since dawn they have been engaged in intercepting as many Imperial communiques as they can, including the fruitless hijacking of AT-DP Walker, hoping that they could obtain the current prisoner logs of all Imperial detention facilities on Lothal. So far their efforts have been in vain, and they’re beginning to feel the pinch as the clock ticks relentlessly on. With every hour that passes, the slimmer their chance of rescuing Kanan becomes.</p><p>“The kid should be out here helping us,” Zeb grunts. </p><p>Chopper mutters his agreement.</p><p>“Ezra is doing all he can right now,” Sabine answers, a sharp edge to her voice. “And as it stands, he’s probably got a better chance of finding Kanan before we do.”</p><p>Zeb snorts. “You really believe all that kark about symbis looping or whatever it’s called?”</p><p>“Hera does. And so do I. Ezra needs our trust right now, guys, not our doubt. He’s working as hard as we are. He’s been meditating nonstop for the last day. I don’t think he’s slept since Kanan was taken. I saw him sitting up in the nose turret earlier, and he looked…” She shakes her head, unable to finish.</p><p>Zeb goes quiet. Even Chopper seems chastened by her words.</p><p>“In any case, we can’t afford to lose focus now.” She taps a button and zooms in on the map. “Kanan is what you would call a high-profile prisoner. He’s one of the last Jedi <em> and </em>a rebel leader, so the ISB should be all over this. It makes the most sense that they would bring him here.”</p><p>She points to a large circular structure at the edge of Capital City. </p><p>“The Imperial Complex, where he would be officially tried and sentenced. Possibly executed as well. However, if they plan to move him off world for trial, like to one of the core or Inner Rim planets—which they might do because he <em> is </em>such a high-profile prisoner—then the only other option would be here.”</p><p>She rotates the map with a swipe of her hand and gestures to a rectangular facility many kilometers away. </p><p>“This is the biggest detention center on Lothal. It has its own spaceport for transferring prisoners. It’s located right beneath a hyperspace lane, so lots of Imperial traffic moves in and out. There are a couple ISDs  hanging out just above atmosphere right now. However, every time they move him they risk him escaping, and they’re probably paranoid after that comm tower heist we pulled last night, so they may be sticking close to home.”</p><p>Chopper interrupts with a critical burble. </p><p>Sabine sighs. “I <em> know </em> it’s all conjecture, but it’s the best we’ve got right now. If the ISB are involved, which I’m almost <em> positive </em>they are, and if they’re nervous enough to keep things local, then odds are they’ve still got him at the Imperial Complex.”</p><p>“If they do, we all know he’s as good as gone,” Zeb mutters.</p><p>“He’s not gone.”</p><p>Startled by the new voice, they turn to see Ezra standing in the dark passageway. He’s barefoot, still wearing his pajamas, his hair disheveled and his eyes glassy. He holds Kanan’s blanket around his shoulders.</p><p>“And he’s not at the Imperial Complex.” </p><p>“How do you know that?” Zeb asks.</p><p>Ezra blinks once, slowly. “Because he just told me.”</p><hr class="hr"/><p>Blue light glows in the crack between Hera’s cabin doors. Inside, she leans on her tiny workbench and listens to the deliberately distorted voice of a shrouded figure on the holoprojector. The image jumps and flickers at regular intervals as it passes through dozens of layers of encryption.</p><p>“<em>Kanan knew the risks</em>,” the figure is saying. “<em>Accepted them. I’m sorry, but you must focus on your next objective</em>.”</p><p>Hera looks up at the ceiling, sighs, and shakes her head as if she’s just been tasked with the impossible. Her exhaustion, both emotional and physical, is making her irritable.</p><p>“With all due respect, Fulcrum, Kanan <em> is </em>our next objective. He’s out there somewhere, alive. We can still find him.”</p><p>“<em>At what cost? You? Your unit? The overall mission?</em>” Sigh. “<em>There’s something else, Hera. The transmission Ezra was able to beam out has attracted attention. Not just from civilians, but from the highest levels of the Empire</em>.”</p><p>Something like hope causes Hera to straighten up, and she is suddenly belligerently proud. “It was Kanan’s plan. I guess it worked.”</p><p>“<em>Your mission was to be unseen</em>. <em>Unnoticed. And now</em>—”</p><p>“Kanan wanted to inspire people. He wanted to give them hope.”</p><p>“<em>And he was successful. But if you are caught—if Ezra is caught—that hope will die</em>.”</p><p>Hera leans her elbows on the workbench and scrubs both hands down her face. “So what do we do? Crawl into the shadows and let the Empire turn Kanan into a martyr? Abandon him, leave him to be tortured and executed because we’re too afraid to take risks?” She throws her arm out angrily. “That goes against everything Ezra said in his message. Against everything we believe!”</p><p>Fulcrum says nothing.</p><p>Hera knows she has spoken out of line, that her emotions are getting the better of her, but for once she doesn’t give a damn. She takes a deep breath and tries to cool her temper.</p><p>“We may have a chance,” she says quietly. “Ezra thinks he can find him. He and Kanan, they… they have some kind of connection. A syndis loop, this Jedi bonding techni—”</p><p>“<em>Repeat, Hera. Did you say </em> syndis loop<em>?</em>”</p><p>This is the first time Hera has ever heard Fulcrum raise their voice. If the audio weren’t so crackly she might have thought they sounded frightened.</p><p>“Yes. Do you know about it?”</p><p>For a few seconds the jittering blue image of Fulcrum’s cloaked form says nothing. Then: “<em>Enough to know that this isn’t good</em>.”</p><p>“What? Why? What do you mean?” Hera tries to keep her tone neutral, but her concern causes her pitch to rise. “If Ezra can find Kanan without us having to hijack and intercept every Imperial comm, we won’t draw as much attention and they’ll—”</p><p>“<em>It doesn’t matter. Ezra is too young and inexperienced to handle this. They both are.</em>” The hooded head begins to shake back and forth. “<em>Why would Kanan do something this reckless?</em>”</p><p>“He didn’t. Ezra told me it was an accident.”</p><p>“<em>An </em>accident<em>? That’s impossible. Syndis loops are never formed by accident.</em>”</p><p>Hera is beginning to feel every minute of sleep she’s lost in the past day. She massages her temples. “Look, I don’t know all the details. Ezra said it just happened on its own, that somehow Kanan gave him a piece of his spirit or Force energy or however that works, and now it’s part of Ezra’s.”</p><p>“<em>Hera, listen to me, this is very important: did Ezra say whether he and Kanan </em> both <em> exchanged energies?</em>”</p><p>Hera runs backward through her memories. “I don’t think so. All he said was that Kanan had given him a piece of his Force and that it would help us find him. He didn’t say anything about doing the same.”</p><p>“<em>This could be very bad. If they haven’t completed the exchange, if Ezra hasn’t reciprocated Kanan’s energy by giving him some of his own, then they are dangerously unbalanced. Incomplete. Kanan is especially vulnerable without Ezra’s Force to make him whole.” </em></p><p>Hera leans back with a frown. “But he still has the ability to control the Force, right?”</p><p>“<em>Yes, but his own energy, the thing he uses to connect with the Force around him, is not as it should be. </em></p><p>“<em>Individual Force is like a window, Hera; if it’s cracked, it loses its integrity. It becomes compromised. It can still be fixed. Healed. But if it’s missing a shard, it loses its entire function. It is no longer a window—it’s a sieve. Anything can come through it. </em></p><p>“<em>If what you told me is correct, then the Force within Kanan is fragmented. He is essentially missing a piece of himself, and in the absence of light, darkness will creep in. The universe abhors a vacuum, and unless Kanan knows how to shield his mind, he is susceptible to being manipulated by evil influences.</em>”</p><p>Fear, cold and spiky, blossoms in Hera’s stomach. “All the more reason to find him as soon as possible.”</p><p>“<em>If he is shielding his mind, which is the only way he could possibly still be alive, then there is no way Ezra can reach him. This is the last thing Kanan would do to protect you all. Like locking the door behind him.</em>”</p><p>There is nothing Hera can say. She is speechless.</p><p>“<em>You </em>must not<em> pursue him. The Empire will be expecting you. This is exactly what they want.</em>” Fulcrum’s voice is strong, commanding total obedience. “<em>To protect your unit, to protect Ezra, you must stop your search and go into hiding. Leave the planet. Leave the system.</em>”</p><p>Hera can’t believe what she’s hearing. Her lips move numbly, forming vague words of protest, but no sound escapes her mouth.</p><p><em>“I know how much Kanan means to all of you. How much he means to Ezra. But he made his choice. You must let him go, Hera, for the sake of your crew. For all of us who are fighting this war. I’m sorry.</em>”</p><p>A few seconds of silence follow, then the transmission ends.</p><p>Hera drops down onto her bunk and cradles her head in her hands, lekku draped down her back. She stays like that for a long while, thinking of how she’s going to tell her crew, how she’s going to tell Ezra, that they must abandon Kanan to his fate.</p><p>She is jarred back to reality by the sound of rapid footsteps down the passageway followed by an excited knocking on her doors. She springs up and dashes across her cabin. When she unlocks and slides open the doors, she is greeted by Sabine’s breathless, grinning face.</p><p>“It’s Ezra. He says he’s found Kanan! He’s on Governor Tarkin’s Destroyer, the <em>Sovereign</em>. It’s still in the system, but it’ll be leaving soon.”</p><p>Hera’s mouth hangs open. Fulcrum’s final warning echoes in her mind. But Ezra’s message echoes stronger.</p><p>“A <em>Star Destroyer</em>? When did he—where is it taking—”</p><p>“Ezra will tell you himself. Come on!”</p><p>Sabine grabs Hera’s arm and pulls her down the passageway.</p>
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